Beacon of Vengeance

by Patrick W O'Bryon

  Ryan unwound the string tie on the narrow manila envelope and withdrew a dozen or so papers. A quick glance suggested an analysis of current educational curricula offered in Nantes with emphasis on the new Vichy plan to promote traditional values in education. “Pretty exciting stuff, my friend.”

  “Ah, but wait until your handlers discover what hides beneath. It will be well worth their troubles.” Ryan found the backside of the first few pages blank, but knew immediately that secret ink hid the promised intelligence on regional military and industrial projects. The planners of Allied bombing would be delighted with this information.

  “Then I shall take good care of these indeed.” He closed the envelope and slid it into the other pocket of his jacket. “Again, my heartfelt thanks, René.”

  “Just know that Erika and I are deeply touched by all you sacrificed—and risked—coming to find us.” He grinned. “Even if Nicole here had to save your butt!” Nicole ignored the tease, apparently anxious to get moving. “But now it’s time to do something productive with these newly-found comrades of ours. I’ll introduce you as ‘Duisberg,’ an appropriate code name, don’t you agree?”

  The friends had first met when Ryan resided in the Duisberg Haus in Marburg during their university days. “I’m happy to use it. Has a more familiar ring than Raoul Diderot!”

  “Listen—as you know, I’m now going by Rénard, and Erika’s Héloise, got it?”

  “Nice choices.”

  “And you, Nicole? Do you have a code name?”

  “Nicole will do.”

  “Then Nicole it is. Some in the group are a bit rough around the edges, but their commitment is strong. So let’s figure out how to take advantage of that.”

  René led them into the room and made introductions. Ryan and Nicole received a respectable welcome, especially from Yves, who greeted them as old friends. Maurice and Laura came across the room to shake hands. Cerberus and Raymond acknowledged them with quick smiles from beyond the large table. René’s two “hotheads,” Henri and Jean-Philippe, were no-shows.

  “I say we give those two a few more minutes.” Maurice wanted the two young men present before finalizing the operation against the Saint-Nazaire submarine project. Ryan knew that Maurice, with the shoulders of a dockworker, was actually the engineering professor coaching René for his coming assignment as a bogus German engineer.

  “Are they on their way?” Cerberus looked dubious. “Those two seem fed up with our—shall we say—more reasoned approach to dealing with the Boches.”

  “They’re still on board, I’m sure. And their friends over in Saint-Nazaire are needed to get us into the installation.” Maurice radiated confidence. “And since we may merge the two groups afterwards, we’ll need to work well together.” As a discussion of this prospective union with the better-established group downriver gained headway, René heard the faint, coded knock on the warehouse door. He went out to open up for the two absent members of the group.

  Minutes later he quietly returned, stumbling back into the room with his one arm wrenched behind his back. Horst von Kredow held a dagger to his throat. Two armed men in dark suits covered the group with automatic pistols. “Let’s make this as easy as possible on everyone. Arms up and face the wall!” René made an effort to resist and a narrow stripe of blood rose across his neck.

  Most immediately raised their hands and turned toward the wall in surrender. Erika went pale and stifled a gasp. One hand over her mouth, she remained frozen in place. Ryan had been examining the large map of the Saint-Nazaire docks and bolted upright at the sound of Horst’s voice, only to lurch involuntarily from the table. Horst smiled serenely. “Our first order of business is to relieve you all of firearms, since I presume you all carry weapons.”

  The two Gestapo agents searched the partisans, gathering revolvers, switchblades and a knuckleduster. Ryan’s eyes cut right and left. Erika’s face was drained of all color. Nicole had neither raised her hands nor appeared surprised at the sight of her nemesis. As an agent approached her, Horst spoke again, his eyes bright. “Leave her—that one’s mine. Marionette, come stand beside me.” Nicole found a place behind him. “That’s a good girl.”

  Ryan’s jaw dropped. “But Nicole, how can…?”

  “You’ll learn soon enough, Herr Lemmon, but for now, “halt’s Maul!” Ryan shut up, his jaw again hanging open.

  Nicole’s eyes never left Horst, while Erika glared pure hatred at them both. Ryan remained behind the table, stunned by this revelation. None of it made sense. This same woman who despised men for their violence and treachery, the girl who ruthlessly killed two Gestapo at the roadside trap, this lovely but sullen “partisan” who protested even coming this far with him—this woman was Horst’s mole, his plant?

  Ryan fell back on his training. He held his breath as the agent frisked him, running his hands under Ryan’s arms, down his sides and the length of his legs. The man failed to consider the small of the back, where the police Browning was tucked out of sight. Had he moved that direction, Ryan was prepared to drop the agent and then go for Horst. With luck some partisans would join the fray and take out the other Gestapo man. But the agent turned away empty-handed, and Ryan slowly exhaled.

  By his own count Ryan was now alone in hiding a weapon. René would have lost his to Horst and his men at the door. Nicole carried the small pistol in her handbag, but she—inexplicably—was in Horst’s pocket. There was no logic to it, but also no time to argue with facts—she was a traitor and he would treat her as such.

  Horst gave new orders. “Get them out of here—all except these three,” he singled out René, Erika and Ryan with the point of the knife, “and my helpful little Marionette stays, as well. Now make it quick—you know what to do with them.”

  Horst dropped the blade to the floor without warning and yanked René’s arm upward using both hands, nearly lifting him from the floor. René’s arm dislocated from the shoulder with a resounding pop. The big man fell to his knees, his right hand grasping the damaged shoulder as a low moan escaped his lips. Erika gasped in horror.

  Horst retrieved the knife and returned it to René’s neck, hissing in his ear: “The last time we crossed blades you managed to best me, Frenchman. Don’t think I’ll ever offer a second chance.” He slammed the hilt of the dagger down atop René’s skull, sending a river of blood coursing down his cheeks and through his beard. René lay unmoving on the floor.

  Erika screamed.

  Ryan inched his hand slowly back toward the pistol, knowing every shot would have to count.

  Now Erika put reason in her trembling voice. “Horst, you don’t need this. It’s all gone on far too long. Do the right thing—it’s not for us, it’s for your own son!”

  “My dear Erika, I am considering the little brat, as should you.” He shouted out into the darkness of the warehouse. “Reinbringen, sofort!” Erika’s eyes shot to the open door. A third agent appeared, dragging Leo by the collar. Adhesive bandage bound the boy’s hands and feet, another strip covered his mouth. Leo’s eyes shot wildly to his mother, then his downed uncle, coming to rest on the frightening man towering over him.

  Erika cried out. “Oh my God, Leo, my Leo—”

  “Yes, I’ve returned your Leo to you. It’s time we put our family matters to rest, my dear.” Returning the dagger to his belt, he ripped the adhesive plaster from Leo’s mouth.

  “Mutti!” Leo struggled with his bound feet.

  “Oh, my baby!—” She lurched for her son, but stopped short. Horst held the barrel of his pistol at Leo’s head.

  “Don’t…touch…the Mischling, you Jewish whore!” His fist turned pale on the grip of the pistol.

  Tears streamed down her face. “But Horst, he’s innocent!”

  His rage faded as quickly as it had surfaced, his voice suddenly that of reason and philosophical debate. “Is any one of us truly innocent, Erika?” He placed a boot on René’s back. “Here’s how this final game plays out. First, your fallen hero here—�
�� he stomped down on René’s spine, forcing a groan, “I’ll bleed him out like the French pig he is, all for our amusement. We’ll watch his life spread out on this concrete floor, knowing your time is still to come. It’ll be a treat.” Horst lifted his foot to deliver a forceful kick to the ribs. René grunted but barely moved as he struggled for breath. “Next, I’ll finish what Klaus and I began back in Kehl with our dear Dr. Lemmon, who didn’t have the simple decency to stay put.” The barrel end of the pistol now singled out Ryan. “We were just about to roast your prick with a hot poker, as I recall. My darling Erika, your old lover still needs to learn not to fuck another man’s wife. And finally, the boy here goes, slowly, right before your lovely blue eyes.”

  Erika stared in fury, hesitant even to speak again, though she knew she must. “Leo has never harmed you.”

  “Ah, but that’s just it, my blonde Jew-bitch of a wife—our little Leo here must pay for your sins. You took my pure Germanic sperm and corrupted a noble bloodline by birthing this half-breed. And now you will atone for the crime. Consider this—I first thought you should die with the knowledge that your child’s excruciating pain was yet to come. But now I’m convinced you’ll agonize more by witnessing his death. And afterwards, believe me, your own final hours will be memorable.”

  Erika shook in frustration, her reddened eyes glued to her son as Leo cried out to her again. “Mutti, please don’t cry!” Horst ordered the boy gagged again, and at the failure of the old bandage to adhere, he sent his man out to fetch more. The moment the agent left the room, Leo tried to crawl toward his mother and she reached out for him.

  “I said no touching.” Horst hovered over the child, his pistol again at Leo’s head.

  Erika cried out, new steel in her eyes. “Stay there, baby, don’t move!”

  Horst turned back to Ryan, a skeletal grimace passing for a grin. “Once again I’ve played this fool American of yours. He thought he’d escaped me with the help of my Marionette.” Nicole’s eyes never left him, her face unreadable. “But in truth, her dramatic ‘rescue’ was only a brilliant ploy to bring you all together.”

  Erika, her fear suppressed, appeared fully prepared for whatever was coming.

  “You and your oaf here may have unmasked my agents in Bayonne, but I knew you could never resist your old lover Lemmon. And my lovely partisan had proved her commitment to your cause by killing my own men. All I lost were one pain-in-the-ass lieutenant and an expendable driver, and that simple ruse made this reunion possible.” A chuckle escaped those tight lips. “What did it cost you? Every partisan in my way, for my girl here kept me well informed—first the Bayonne misfits, and now this gathering of Nantes incompetents will pay for your gullibility.”

  Dampened echoes reverberated as double bursts of automatic gunfire came from the front of the warehouse. “Ah, there we have it now—a fitting end to your sad little terrorist group. My men will return momentarily, and we’ll let the show begin!”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Nantes, Occupied France

  24 August 1941

  At the sound of the gunfire, Ryan thought of the very pregnant Laura and father-to-be Maurice, of Raymond and Cerberus, and the cheerful forger Yves. And Jacque’s poor Bayonne team who had brought them to this sorrowful end. All fallen to Horst’s murderous obsession. Ryan’s own trustfulness had led to each of those deaths. Horst noted the shock on Ryan’s face. “Did you really believe you could outwit me, outrun me, Herr Lemmon? My God, you’re a victim of your own childish compassion.”

  He turned to Erika. “These Americans are so pathetic it’s nauseating, as easily manipulated as you kikes. No wonder your kind flocks to America. Our pure German race has had thousands of years to perfect ruthless power, to succeed through intelligence and subterfuge—it’s no wonder we control Europe. Even Ancient Rome knew success comes through manipulation and deception.” Horst sneered at Ryan’s obvious revulsion. “Re-read your Cicero, Herr Professor!

  “Spare us your history lessons, von Kredow.” During the long harangue Ryan had turned sideways. Each time Horst looked to Erika, Ryan’s fingers edged closer to the pistol at his back.

  Horst’s diatribe continued unabated: “You fools think America can once again pull the Allied feet from the fire. Think again—that crippled Jew Roosevelt doesn’t have the guts.” His eyes rolled upwards. “Herr Doktor Lemmon, Americans are nothing but mongrels and degenerates. There’s no possible way to beat a pure-blooded German at this game.”

  Ryan recognized one truth in the entire spiteful rant—Horst was his superior at deception, a psychopath without moral or ethical compass. To end this decade-long battle, Ryan would have to think like Horst, become like Horst.

  The agent returned unannounced. He prepared to gag Leo again, but the boy sank his teeth into the man’s hand, clamping down and holding on as blood streamed. The man pulled back in fury and back-handed Leo, sending the bound child sprawling beneath the table. He screamed, and that sudden disruption was enough.

  Horst’s rage broke loose again. “Shut that fucking brat up, and now!”

  In that moment René sprang from the floor, head-butting Horst in the chin while seizing the Sauer and viciously wrenching Horst’s wrist to the side. Horst fell as he lost his footing, and René knee-dropped into the Nazi’s gut. The dagger skidded away as René repeatedly slammed Horst’s head against the floor, punctuating each slam with a menacing growl: “Never…underestimate…a Rhine boatman!” Horst fought back with a vengeance, his fists and legs seemingly unaffected by the damage to his head.

  Lost in self-absorption, Horst had noticed nothing, but both Erika and Ryan had seen René positioning himself for attack. Upon her husband’s first move, Erika lunged for Nicole and delivered a rapid blow to the woman’s head with a blackjack. She went down for the count. Ryan went for the man mishandling Leo. Too concerned with a bleeding hand and vicious child, the agent looked up too late. Ryan buried a shot in his temple. He turned to see Horst and René still locked in battle, and tried desperately to fire without risking the life of his friend.

  “Here, use this.” Erika tossed him the shot-filled bludgeon and he felled Horst with one blow. Ryan gasped for air after the furious exertion, still weakened from the hospital episode. Erika checked René for fractures and reported all bones intact. She then freed struggling Leo from his bonds. The child covered her face with kisses.

  Ryan handed her back the blackjack. “Okay, where the hell was this hidden?”

  She grinned through tears of relief. “Tucked in my bra. Still weighs less than a pistol, you know.” Now she laughed. “Dangerous work, fighting these bastards—I learned that from you some years back.”

  “Glad to help. Now keep an eye on these two.” He searched the dead agent’s pockets, tossing identity papers and handcuffs on the table and taking the man’s pistol. “I’ll go handle the other two bastards up front.”

  A still groggy René shook his head. “Be careful, Ryan. They’re surely heading this way by now. Leo, you and your mother get the handcuffs and tape. Gag them, we need them both quiet.” They made short work of cuffing Horst and binding Nicole’s wrists.

  Footfalls approached rapidly from deep in the warehouse, then slowed in caution as they neared. “Everyone down, now!” Ryan whispered as he took cover to the side of the door and peered out into the dark of the warehouse, his finger on the trigger.

  “Hold your fire!” It was Henri and his Jean-Philippe, approaching carefully with pistols ready. Partisans, thank God, not Gestapo!

  Henri entered first, out of breath and flushed with excitement. “Formidable, real action at last!” He quickly grasped the situation. “We passed an empty cop car parked down by the river so knew they were on to us. We snuck in the back. Our comrades were already up against the wall so we dropped the bastard Boches. The Gestapo assholes never saw us coming.” He squatted beside the dead agent to examine the single head wound. “Nice shooting. But all this gunfire’s sure to bring trouble, so let’s get th
e hell out of here. Maurice took the rest of the group out the front. He told us to stick around to finish the job here.”

  Jean-Philippe stated the obvious. “Doesn’t appear you needed our help.”

  René tried out his wobbly legs as Erika helped him to the table. “You two,” she indicated the young men, “hold him down, he’s a big one. Duisberg, pull steadily on his arm—it should reseat easily enough.” She bent close to René’s ear. “Might hurt a bit, my love.”

  “Anything you ask, darling,” he lowered his voice so that only she could hear, “I do love what you do with your hands.” He grinned through gritted teeth as Ryan held his wrist and flexed the arm at the shoulder, extending it out from his body. Erika applied traction and rotation until the arm relocated with an audible “clunk.” René grunted. He sat up, rubbing his shoulder, then ran his fingers through the caked blood on his scalp and beard. He tentatively touched the raised knot where the dagger handle had done its worst. “Good thing I’m so hard-headed.”

  Erika kissed him. “I’ll never complain about it again.”

  René suddenly noticed Leo approaching the unconscious Nicole. “Leo, stay away from those two.”

  “But she’s so pretty!”

  “Still dangerous, Leo. Just do as I say.”

  Leo pointed to the downed Horst. “And this one’s really scary looking, and mean.” He looked puzzled, some distant memory tugging. “Is he my father?”

  Erika was at a loss. “Not the way he is now, baby. That was a long time ago before he changed.” A feeble smile, first to René and then to Ryan. “But now he wants to hurt us, and we have to make sure he doesn’t get the chance.”

  “But why does he want to hurt us?”

  “He’s a bad man now, sick in the head.” She put her arm around her son.

  René hesitated after swinging his legs from the table. He lowered his head between his knees, allowing a wave of dizziness to pass. One hand cradled his bruised ribs.

  Ryan squatted beside Leo. “Some people become mean, Leo…and we have to make certain they never hurt us, right?”