‘Well, perhaps you will.’ Amalie frowned. There was a road about a mile away at the foot of the hill, but as it led to the border it was very seldom used. Yet now there was a vehicle proceeding along it, driving very slowly.
Christine had seen it too. ‘Do you think it is the gendarmerie?’
Amalie put down her bucket and ran up the hill. Christine followed. At the camp Etienne and Moulin had also seen the stranger. ‘What do you make of it?’ Moulin handed Amalie the binoculars.
She focussed. ‘An open car, with one person. Can it be … a woman?’
‘Another strange woman,’ Etienne remarked, glancing at Christine. ‘Will she be a friend of yours, mademoiselle?’
‘Of course she is not,’ Christine snapped.
It was Amalie’s turn to glance at Christine, in surprise at her vehemence. Then she levelled the glasses again. ‘She’s stopped. She’s getting out.’ Etienne took the binoculars.
‘Perhaps she has broken down,’ Moulin suggested.
‘She is leaning against the door. She is using glasses to examine the hills. She is looking for us!’
‘She must be eliminated,’ Christine said. She couldn’t imagine what was going on, but she certainly did not want any other agent muscling in on her territory and perhaps giving the whole game away.
‘I think she should be investigated,’ Etienne agreed. ‘I think the best thing, if she is looking for us, would be to let her find us.’
‘If you do that, you will not be able to let her go again,’ Amalie told him.
Etienne pointed at the smouldering fire, from which wisps of smoke were rising. ‘If she has seen that, and she is actually looking for us, then she has found us anyway.’ He looked at Moulin.
He nodded. ‘That is true. Go down and see what she wants. Do not give yourself away. If you consider it necessary, bring her up here. But Etienne, do not harm her, unless you have to. She may be entirely innocent.’
Etienne nodded, and picked up his tommy-gun. ‘I will come with you,’ Amalie said.
‘And I,’ Christine volunteered.
‘Well, be careful. She may be armed.’
*
They lost sight of the road as they descended the hill. ‘She will probably have driven away again by the time we get there,’ Amalie panted.
‘Not if she is really looking for us,’ Christine said. ‘And wants us to find her.’
‘There!’ They had reached a crag, only about a hundred feet above the road, and Etienne pointed.
The car was still there, and the woman had got back behind the wheel and was smoking a cigarette.
‘Oh, my God!’ Amalie cried. ‘It is Joanna!’
Five - The Crisis
‘Who is Joanna?’ Etienne asked.
‘An old friend of the family,’ Amalie told him. ‘She and Liane were at school together.’
‘And she knows you are here?’
‘Well … she must do.’
‘How?’
‘I have no idea. But we must get down there. She may have a message.’
‘A message from whom?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps Liane.’ She stood up and waved.
Etienne stood also. ‘Well, as she is there …’
Joanna was waving back. ‘Come along, Christine,’ Amalie said. ‘You’ll love Joanna. She’s a bundle of fun.’ She frowned. ‘Are you all right? You’ve lost all your colour.’
‘I feel a little faint,’ Christine acknowledged. ‘I have still not properly regained my strength.’
‘You have been doing too much too soon. You stay here. We’ll bring her up.’
She ran down the hillside, Etienne beside her. Christine sat on the ground and watched them. Shit, she thought. Shit, shit, shit! Of all the absolutely incomprehensible bad luck! She had actually met the Swedish-American on two occasions, at soirées in Berlin. And now she remembered that she had seen her speaking with Madeleine von Helsingen, but it had not occurred to her that she might be a friend of the de Gruchy family. Weber would be interested to learn that. He would be even more interested to learn that she was in contact with these guerillas. Now, how could she have learned their whereabouts except through either Madeleine or Liane? Which had to mean that she was in touch with Liane — the most wanted woman in France! But to use those two priceless pieces of information she had to survive this meeting. She had to rely on the fact that there was very little similarity between the rag doll she had allowed herself to become and the sophisticated, immaculately groomed woman Joanna might remember.
She began to descend the hill.
*
‘Joanna!’ Amalie cried, running forward for an embrace. ‘It’s so good to see you.’
‘Snap.’ Joanna looked past her at Etienne.
‘This is Etienne,’ Amalie explained. ‘One of us. But however did you find us?’
‘I have friends who tells me things. But no one knows for sure where you are. I’ve been looking for three days. You wouldn’t have anything worth drinking?’
‘No. But we have something.’
‘And a bath?’
‘You’ll have to use the stream. Come along. Jean will be so pleased to see you.’
‘Jean?’
‘You must remember Jean Moulin. He was the prefect of Chartres.’
‘And he is here with you? Good Lord!’
‘He is our leader.’
‘Your leader? I thought …’ She checked at the sight of Christine coming towards her.
‘This is Monica,’ Amalie explained. ‘She was captured and tortured by the Gestapo. But she escaped and joined us.’
‘Hello, Monica.’ Joanna shook hands, frowning.
‘Is something the matter, mademoiselle?’ Christine asked.
‘There’s something … We haven’t met, have we?’
‘I do not think so, mademoiselle. Perhaps Oxford University, before the war.’
‘Nope. I never made any university. Never tried.’
‘Monica is a British agent,’ Amalie said proudly. ‘That is why she was captured by the Gestapo.’
‘A British agent,’ Joanna commented. ‘Gee whiz! I have always wanted to meet a genuine spy. But I thought you guys spent your time not being arrested by the Gestapo?’
‘I was betrayed,’ Christine said. ‘By somebody in England.’
‘I can believe it. They’re an untrustworthy lot.’
*
‘My God!’ Joanna said. ‘Jean? What did they do to you?’
‘They tortured him too,’ Amalie explained.
‘But I survived,’ Moulin said. ‘As did Monica.’
Joanna hugged him. ‘They sure don’t seem to be very competent. But I’m real glad you got out, Jean. Now listen, where is Liane? And Pierre? I was told you were together.’ Amalie was pouring wine. ‘Well, we are, usually. But Pierre is off on a mission. With Henri. The British are going to raid St Valery, and our people are going to help them. They reckon they’ll be away about a month.’
‘Amalie!’ Moulin protested.
‘Oh. Joanna’s one of us. Aren’t you, Joanna?’
‘Of course I am.’
‘Just as long as you’re not going to rush off and print any of this in your newspaper.’
‘No way. But where’s Liane?’
‘Liane’s in Paris. She’s setting up an escape route for Allied airmen who get shot down.’
‘You let Liane go to Paris? There’s a reward out for her.’
‘She’ll be all right. She’s totally disguised. We cut her hair short, and dyed it black. And she’s going to move in with her Left Bank friends.’
‘I still think it’s criminally dangerous.’ Joanna glanced at Christine, who had been a silent observer of the discussion.
‘I agree with you,’ Christine said. Her brain was racing. This whole thing was falling into her lap more quickly than she could have dreamed, every bit of information she had been sent to discover. This over-the-top woman was obviously not in touch with Liane
, but what Amalie had so carelessly revealed was an absolute bombshell. It had to be got to Franz, just as rapidly as possible. But how? There was no way these people would let her leave this encampment, and if she just stole away she would never be able to come back. Was the information she now possessed sufficiently important to blow her cover? Would Weber think so? He was the only man in the world of whom she was truly afraid.
‘The reason I’m here,’ Joanna was explaining, ‘is to warn you about your parents. Holy shit!’ She had drunk some wine.
‘You’ll get used to it,’ Amalie said. ‘What about Mama and Papa?’
‘Did you know they’re back in Paulliac?’
‘Yes. Monica told us.’ Joanna gave Christine another look. ‘That is why she is here,’ Amalie explained. ‘She was sent by the British to make contact with them. Papa is a British agent. Can you imagine? And we never knew.’
Joanna drank some more wine, wrinkling her nose. ‘No, I cannot imagine. Who told you this?’
‘I did,’ Christine said. ‘As Amalie said, I was sent to reopen contact with them. But the Germans caught me before I could reach them.’
‘How annoying for you.’
‘They tortured her terribly,’ Amalie said, sensing Joanna’s disbelief. ‘You should see the marks.’
‘I should love to do that sometime. What I want to know is, have you made any attempt to see them.’
‘Well …’ Amalie flushed. ‘I wanted to. They don’t even know I’m alive. They think I drowned in the river last year. I would so like to see them. But Liane wasn’t here, and Pierre said to do nothing until he came back from this mission. He felt there was something suspicious about them being released.’
‘And he was absolutely right. They are the bait of a trap to lure you out of these mountains, to lure you across the border into the occupied territory.’ Amalie clasped both hands to her neck.
‘Do you know this for a fact?’ Moulin asked.
‘I keep my ears open in Berlin. It’s my job.’
‘Do they know it?’
‘Almost certainly not.’
‘Then what are we to do? If they were sent here to entrap Pierre and Liane, and no notice is taken of them, they could be re-arrested.’ He preferred not to mention Pierre’s fear that that would happen anyway, should the Germans be able to decode Monica’s message.
‘Oh, my God!’ Amalie cried.
Joanna appeared to consider. ‘It is a tricky one,’ she said. ‘But listen. I can at least see them and tell them the situation.’
‘You?’
‘I am on a driving tour through the south of France, reporting on conditions for my newspaper. No one stops me from going anywhere I please. I’m an old friend of your family, and the Germans are making no secret that your parents have been released. In fact, they’re giving it maximum publicity. So, as I happen to be in the Bordeaux area, what would be more natural than for me to pay Paulliac a visit, see how they’re getting on — and put them in the picture.’
‘Oh, that would be marvellous,’ Amalie cried. ‘I wish I could come with you.’
‘That would be far too dangerous. But …’ She looked at Christine. ‘You could come. To complete your mission. I’d bring you back here afterwards.’
Christine could hardly believe her ears. She was being offered an out! Did she dare take it? And then get back in again? It could be done. ‘I would like to do that,’ she said. ‘But I have no papers.’
‘There is a spacious boot in that car. You can hide in there.’
‘It is too dangerous,’ Amalie protested.
‘Not for Monica,’ Joanna pointed out. ‘From what I’ve read, an agent’s life is nothing but risk. Right, Monica? Besides, I’ll take care of you.’
‘Of course you will,’ Christine said.
*
‘There is no need for you to go into the boot until we’re close to the border,’ Joanna said, cranking the engine. She had had a meal and a hasty dip in the cold water of the stream.
‘I am in your hands,’ Christine agreed, getting into the front and waving to Amalie and Etienne, who were watching them from up the hill.
The engine started. Joanna waved as well, and got behind the wheel. ‘I don’t know much about this neck of the woods, so you’ll have to map read. It’s in the glove compartment.’
Christine took the map out, opened it, and pressed it flat on her knees to stop it from flapping in the breeze. She was wearing some of the clothes accumulated in the camp, trousers and a blouse and canvas ankle boots, and looked like a scarecrow beside Joanna’s chic dress. ‘This road goes right up to the border, as long as we don’t take any turns off.’
‘And how far is it?’
‘It looks like …’ She tried to relate the distance to the scale at the bottom of the map. ‘Maybe sixty kilometres.’
‘So even on this surface we should do it in a couple of hours. There by six.’
‘There will be a curfew.’
‘Sure, but it’s not going to get dark much before nine. We’ll be in Paulliac by then.’
‘You have been there before? You know the way?’
‘Sure. But you must know it too.’
‘I have never been there.’
‘But you must know the district, where the de Gruchys live. How were you supposed to contact them?’
‘I had a map, like you. But the Germans took it.’ They were now down from the highland and driving between fields of sunflowers. Without warning Joanna pulled into the side of the road and braked. Christine had to throw up her hands to avoid hitting her head on the dashboard. ‘What has happened?’
Joanna switched off the ignition. ‘I just felt that you and I should have a chat.’
‘I do not understand you.’
‘Come on. You’re not a British agent.’
‘You are calling me a liar? Why do you think the Gestapo tortured me?’
‘Did they? What exactly did they do to you?’
‘They flogged me. Would you like to see the marks?’
‘I gather you showed them to Amalie, so I’m quite sure they’re there. But that doesn’t necessarily prove anything, save that maybe you’re a masochist. What is your code name?’
‘I am not going to tell you that.’
‘Would you like me to beat it out of you?’
‘I would be amused to have you try.’
They gazed at each other. Joanna was the bigger woman, and she had immense confidence in her training, her skills. But for the first time in her life she had an unexpected spasm of uncertainty. If this woman was a British agent, working for some other control, she would have received the same training, perhaps at the same school she had attended, briefly, before absconding, from the same instructors as herself. If, on the other hand, she was a German agent, her training would have been entirely different, her skills of a different calibre … and superior? In any event, supposing she did take her on, and got nowhere, however victorious, what would she tell Amalie and Moulin, who obviously trusted the woman? She temporized while she considered the situation. ‘Suppose I were to tell you that I know for a fact that Albert de Gruchy is not and never has been a British agent?’
‘How can you know such a thing?’
‘I’m a newspaper reporter. I get confidences from people. It’s my business.’
‘And you think a man like de Gruchy would confide in you?’ Christine’s tone was contemptuous.
Pressing any further could well mean Joanna admitting that she was a British agent. ‘Have it your way,’ she agreed, and got out to crank the engine. They drove in silence for another twenty kilometres, passing a couple of horse-drawn carts but no traffic, then Joanna braked again. ‘Time for you to disappear, I think.’
Christine got out without a word, raised the boot lid, and crawled in, pulling the lid down on top of her. Joanna resumed driving. The French border post was perfunctory. If anyone was so misguided as to wish to enter the occupied territory from the relative safety of
Vichy it was not their business to do anything more than wonder. At the other end of the short road two German soldiers, a private and a sergeant, tommy-guns slung on their shoulders, waited for her. A third stood by the lowered barrier. They inspected her approvingly, then the sergeant said, ‘Papers.’
Joanna opened her bag and handed them over. He studied them with great care, turning the pages of the passport one by one, then raised his head. ‘You are going to Bordeaux?’
‘I have friends there who I am going to visit.’ He looked at his colleague, who shrugged, and handed the documents back. Then he waved to the man at the barrier, who leaned on the broad base to lift the horizontal bar. ‘Thank you,’ Joanna said, engaged gear, and suddenly there was a loud sneeze. All the men reacted immediately, and she faced three tommy-guns, which ended her immediate inclination to gun her engine and get away. So she braked again.
‘Switch off the motor.’ Joanna obeyed. ‘Now get out. The keys.’
Joanna gave him the keys. ‘It’s not locked.’ She wondered what was likely to happen next, how far she could go in defending Monica. How far she wanted to go.
One of the soldiers kept his gun pointed at Joanna. The sergeant opened the boot. ‘Out, out,’ he commanded. ‘Get out.’
‘That is what I am doing,’ Christine replied in German. ‘What is this?’
Christine stretched. ‘That woman is a spy. Arrest her.’
‘What the shit …’
The soldiers were equally confused. ‘You are German?’ the sergeant asked.
‘My name is Christine von Ulstein.’
‘My God!’ Joanna muttered.
‘You have papers?’
‘No, I do not have papers. Your commanding officer is Colonel Franz Hoeppner, right?’
‘That is correct.’
‘I am a personal friend of his. You will take me to him, now, and you will place this woman under arrest.’
The sergeant goggled at her. ‘The woman is quite mad,’ Joanna said. ‘I picked her up a few kilometres back. She said she had to get into the occupied territory, but that she had no papers. I agreed to smuggle her across the border. It was foolish of me, I know, but she was such a decrepit-looking creature …’
‘Ha!’ Christine commented.
The Game of Treachery Page 10
