‘Ah. Yes. Oddly, Jerry hasn’t claimed any destruction of a guerilla force. He may be keeping that under wraps for the time being, of course. Or he may have learned of the impending raid but not of the guerillas’ intended part in it. Or of course, they may just not have shown up. Yes.’ He was thoughtful. ‘You have their call sign?’
‘At the Vichy base, yes, sir. I also have the call sign we were to use on the road.’ She decided against telling him that she had already tried that one.
‘Hm. I think you could try calling the base, just to see if they have any information. Do not tell them what has happened.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What about Paris?’
‘I called Pound Twelve and told her to get out. She already seemed to know the situation, and indicated that she was getting out anyway.’
‘Does this mean the route is blown?’
‘I told her to make sure it continued, even in her absence. She seemed confident of this.’
‘Well, let us hope she is right. Very good, Sergeant. You will carry on here until further notice. I will immediately begin locating a suitable replacement for Major Barron.’
‘With respect, sir, there can be no replacement who will possess such an intimate relationship with the guerillas.’ Or, she thought, be in love with their leader.
‘Well, he will have to cultivate such a relationship. He will inherit you, at least for a while, so you will have to give him all the help you can. And for God’s sake, Sergeant, cheer up. So you’ve lost a respected boss —’
‘Who was also a friend, sir.’
‘Yes. Well, that is the way it goes. Keep me informed of the situation in Vichy. And you know that I am always here if there is a problem.’
‘Yes, sir.’ But when there was a crisis, she thought, you were out to dinner.
*
Joanna’s morning paper was delivered, as always, with her breakfast. She had had a bath, but again as always, breakfasted in her dressing gown, spreading the paper in front of her while she buttered toast. Then she paused, the knife upright in her hand. Her blood seemed to have turned quite cold.
GREAT BATTLE IN ENGLISH CHANNEL ENGLISH INVASION FLEET DESTROYED. MANY CASUALTIES.
She continued to stare at the headline for several seconds; then she got up from the table and poured herself a glass of cognac, although it was nine in the morning and she had an empty stomach. Keep calm, she told herself. You must keep calm. But keeping calm was impossible. She picked up the phone, gave the number of the American embassy. ‘Is Mr Munday in yet?’
‘I’ll just see. Who is calling, please?’
‘Joanna Jonsson.’
‘If you’ll hold the line, Miss Jonsson. I think he’s just come in.’
‘Joanna! Lovely to hear from you.’
She had to assume her room was still being bugged. ‘How would you like to join me for lunch?’
‘Ah …’
‘I really would like to see you, George. One o’clock? And I tell you what: bring a copy of today’s paper with you. There’s an interesting story I’d like to discuss.’ She replaced the phone, drank the rest of the cognac, went back to her breakfast and drank ersatz coffee. Her nerves were settling. She was quite sure that George, who was a very good fellow — if a very poor lover, but perhaps that had been her fault — would have had the message delivered. So James had decided to ignore it. Then the bastard had got what was coming to him. But the thought of all those men killed … And where did that leave Liane? If he had not acted on half of the message, he was very unlikely to have acted on the other. What a fuck-up.
The phone rang. ‘Joanna? I didn’t wake you, I hope?’
‘No, I was up, Sven.’
‘Well, I’m happy to tell you that the travel ban has been lifted, and that you are free to go wherever you wish, whenever you wish. It seems to have been an administrative mix-up. When people are at war they do seem to become absolutely paranoid.’
‘Well, thanks for your help, Sven.’
‘Will you be leaving immediately?’
‘I imagine so.’
‘Would you like me to arrange it for you?’
‘That would be very kind.’
‘I’ll call you back.’
Joanna replaced the phone. Talk about shutting the stable door … Except that it was opening the stable door. After what? Well, presumably when she got to England, she’d find out what really happened. Or what had not happened at all. She got up, went to the drinks table, regarded her empty glass, and decided against refilling it. Getting blotto in the middle of the morning was not going to help. Instead she ate some toast.
There was a tap on the door. ‘Who the fuck,’ she muttered, and opened it, regarded the heavy-set, black-haired man who stood there. He wore civilian clothes, but that made him even more identifiable. ‘Don’t tell me,’ she said. ‘Your machine has broken down.’
‘Fräulein?’
‘Aren’t you Gestapo? You look like Gestapo.’
‘I am not Gestapo, Fräulein. I see you are not dressed. Would you like me to come back in fifteen minutes?’
‘Why should you come back at all?’
‘I would like to speak with you on an important matter.’ Joanna considered. But with her skills she was not afraid of any man, and he might turn out to be interesting; in any event, the fact that he could obviously tell she was wearing nothing under the dressing gown gave her an advantage, if only because he would be permanently distracted. ‘You can come in now.’ She stepped back, returned to the table. ‘Drink?’
‘Perhaps later. My name is Oskar Weber.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Oskar. Have a seat and tell me what’s on your mind. What did you say you did?’
‘I didn’t.’ He sat on the settee.
Joanna took the chair, crossed her knees, allowing the dressing gown to fall away from them. ‘You know something, Oskar, I hate word games and mind games. And the people who play them. You don’t want me to wind up hating you, do you?’
‘I am sure that would be traumatic, Fräulein. Let us say I work for the government.’
‘Doesn’t everyone in this country? Everyone who isn’t in a concentration camp, that is.’
‘You are very witty, Fräulein. However, I am in a senior position. I do not obey the rules. I make the rules.’
‘I’m impressed. But as I am a singularly unimportant person, I don’t see how I can interest you.’ But her heart was pounding. Could this rather sinister man know what she really was? How? Had that louse Schmitt written something down?
‘You underestimate yourself, Fräulein. You are a very successful journalist.’
‘I get by.’
‘I have also got the impression, from your reports, that you are sympathetic to our ideals.’
‘They’re better than a lot of others.’
‘That is a very mature judgement. You are also in the happy position of holding both American and Swedish passports, is that not so? This enables you to travel freely throughout Europe. From one combatant state to another, without hindrance. You even, I understand, have links with the French Resistance movement.’
‘Shit!’ Joanna muttered. ‘You planted the Ulstein dame.’
‘Christine works for me, yes. I am sorry you and she fell out. But you will understand that she is in a very delicate position. If her true identity were to be discovered by the guerillas, it could turn out very badly for her.’
‘I reckon they’d roast her over a slow fire.’
‘You put things so imaginatively.’
‘She had me locked up by your thugs. You have any idea what happens to you when you are arrested by the Gestapo? Oh, I forgot; you make the rules.’
‘You were not arrested by the Gestapo, Fräulein. You were taken into temporary custody by the Wehrmacht. Who then apologized for their mistake.’
‘Big deal. ‘
‘I would have thought you were big enough to overlook the incident.’
‘Give
me time. And tell me why you are here.’
‘As we are agreed, you are a very successful journalist, your success being based on the inside pictures you draw for your American audience. Were you unable to provide those pictures, would you still be successful?’
‘Are you threatening to deport me?’
‘I should hate to have to do that, Fräulein. It merely occurs to me that, knowing so many of our secrets already, you might like to know more.’
‘You’ve lost me.’
‘Very simply, Fräulein, I am inviting you to work for the Third Reich.’
Eight - The Homecoming
Joanna blinked. ‘Would you say that again?’
‘I think it would be advantageous to all of us.’
‘To you, maybe. I can’t imagine how it would be helpful to me. What do you want me to be? A spy or something? Or to help turn in my friends?’
‘I will tell you what I wish you to do when you have agreed to work for me.’
Joanna’s mind was tumbling. How she wished she could contact James, because this could either be something very big or something disastrous. But her instincts were telling her that to agree, just like that, would be a mistake. If he wanted her, Weber would have to bully her, or coerce her, and that might be interesting, not to say amusing, if only because he might tell her something of value — to James. ‘And suppose I don’t reckon that would be quite my scene?’
‘I think you will find it necessary to make it your “scene”, as you so quaintly put it, Fräulein. Shall I put certain facts to you? I have been investigating your background. You are an old and very close friend of the de Gruchy family, are you not?’
‘I know them.’
‘Come now, did you not go to school with Liane de Gruchy?’
‘Finishing school, in Switzerland. Liane was there at the same time, sure. But so were another hundred and eighteen girls.’
‘But you were very close to Liane. Were you not?’
‘We were friends.’
‘You were expelled from that school, Fräulein Jonsson. So was Liane de Gruchy, at the same time. You were found guilty of breaking the same rule. What rule was that?’
Joanna gazed at him. ‘You tell me, seeing as how you seem to know everything.’
‘You were found in bed together, performing certain carnal acts. Am I correct?’
‘So you like creepy-crawling about under carpets. Are you trying to blackmail me?’
‘I would not dream of it. I am not here to criticize your sexual habits. I find the consideration of them very evocative. I am merely suggesting that once upon a time you must have considered yourself in love with Liane, and as you have kept in close contact ever since, it is reasonable to suppose that you are still in love with her.’
Joanna’s nostrils dilated. ‘Women outgrow schoolgirl crushes.’
‘Not all women,’ Weber argued. ‘Were you not staying with the de Gruchys in their Chartres home, in May of last year?’
‘I was attending the wedding of Amalie de Gruchy. So were more than a hundred other people, although I will admit that not all of them were staying in the de Gruchy house. The ceremony was interrupted by your invasion.’
‘Wars are no respecters of occasions, Fräulein. And the day after the wedding you and Liane de Gruchy drove north of Paris. Was that not a very odd thing to do, with a battle going on only a few miles away?’
‘We did not realize how close the fighting was. Liane’s brother Pierre wished to rejoin his regiment, as did an English officer who had also been a wedding guest, and as we knew the trains would be clogged, Liane offered to drive them up to the Belgian border. I went along for the ride.’
‘You wished to share an adventure with your lover.’
‘I’m a journalist, Herr Weber. I thought there might be a story.’
‘So you dropped Pierre de Gruchy and this English officer … What was his name, by the way?’
‘How on earth do you expect me to remember that? I only met him for a couple of hours. I think he may have been called Tommy or something.’
‘All British soldiers are called Tommy, Fräulein.’
‘So maybe I’m mistaken.’
‘It is not important. Do you have any idea what happened to him?’
‘None. Maybe he got away at Dunkirk; maybe he didn’t.’
‘And he was a friend of Liane’s?’
‘He was a friend of Pierre’s,’ Joanna said, as carelessly as she could.
‘Very good. And what happened to Pierre?’
‘I have no idea. Maybe he got away at Dunkirk, too.’
‘Yes, he did get away at Dunkirk. And returned to France a few months later as a British secret agent.’
‘You’re kidding me. Pierre? He’s not the type.’
‘He pretended to have escaped the collapse of the French armies, and returned to Paulliac. Then he persuaded his father to make him manager of the Paris office of de Gruchy and Son. Having established himself in Paris, he set up a secret radio station to transmit information to the British SIS.’
‘Good Lord!’
‘He was traced by the Gestapo, of course, but he managed to make his escape, and reached the guerilla encampment in Vichy, operated by his sister, who was already wanted for murder.’
‘Which sister are we talking about?’
‘Liane, Fräulein, as you well know. As you have known everything I have been saying. Because you were in that camp hardly more than a week ago.’
‘As Christine will have told you. What if I was? These people are old friends of mine. I wanted to see if I could help them. I had intended to pay a call on Barbara and Albert, but your thugs prevented me.’
‘But while there, you met Pierre?’
Joanna hesitated, fatally.
‘You did not meet Pierre,’ Weber said, gently, ‘because he was not there. He was carrying out a mission for the British.’
‘You’ll have to ask Christine about that. She seems to know all the answers.’
‘And you did not meet Liane either, because she was not there. As you say, Fräulein, we know all the answers. With one exception. How did you know the location of the guerilla encampment?’ Again unable to think of an immediate answer, Joanna merely stared at him. ‘It seems to me that there are only two sources from which you could have obtained that information. One is Madeleine von Helsingen, who you visit so regularly, and who no doubt manages to keep in touch with her family.’
‘You would not dare arrest Madeleine.’
‘Because her husband is a favourite of the Führer, and he has agreed to act as godfather to her child? Let me tell you something about the Führer, Fräulein. He is a man of extremes. When he likes someone, he does so extravagantly. Nothing is too good for his friend. But when he discovers that the friend has turned against him, or betrayed him, he hates with a similar extravagance, and the results can be terrifying.’
Joanna breathed deeply. Never had she felt in the presence of so much cultivated evil. ‘Madeleine is not in touch with her family. They have disowned her.’
‘Then your only other source would be the man Schmitt. We know you visited him on the day he committed suicide, and returned the following week.’
‘Schmitt? How could he know anything about the guerillas? Surely you know that he was nothing more than a pimp?’
‘We know he was a pimp, certainly. But for some time we have had suspicions that he was more than that. Unfortunately, he killed himself before we could bring our investigations to a conclusion. And immediately after a visit from you. Now tell me, why should you, a wealthy and well-known woman, visit a pimp?’
Joanna took another deep breath, and held it long enough to force some colour into her cheeks. ‘For those very reasons. Together with your earlier suggestions.’
‘I do not follow you.’
‘For God’s sake, Weber, I’m a lesbian. I have been all my life. But here in Nazi Germany it’s not done. And I can’t take the risk of being blackmaile
d, because, as you say, I’m both wealthy and well known. Schmitt provided women for me. Women I could … love, without risk of repercussions.’
Weber regarded her for several seconds. ‘And why did he commit suicide?’
‘I found him in bed with a man. He was afraid I would denounce him.’
‘But then he would denounce you.’
‘So I would have been shamed. Perhaps even deported. Nothing more. But for him … Do you not send homosexuals to concentration camps?’
‘It is considered the most appropriate place for them, yes. Well, I am sure that this confession will make it easier for us to come to an agreement. Although I will admit that I find it difficult to decide whether you are a very emotionally disturbed young woman or the most consummate liar I have ever encountered. However, you have yourself eliminated every possible link with the guerillas except through the de Gruchys themselves. So tell me when last you spoke with Liane.’
‘I have not seen Liane for over a year. Not since I left Paris last July.’
Again he gazed at her for several moments. ‘Then how did you know where to find the guerillas?’
‘I was told where they were, roughly, by a Swedish journalist, who visited them early this year. He wouldn’t tell me how he knew, but he showed me the area they were located on the map and said if I drove around there I would be sure to encounter them, especially if I was known to the de Gruchys.’
‘And of course, Amalie, the supposedly dead sister, was there. Together with Jean Moulin, the supposedly dead prefect of Chartres.’
‘Yes.’ There was no point in denying what Christine von Ulstein would have told him.
‘Very good. Now tell me your plans.’
‘I am returning to Sweden.’
‘And?’
‘I intend to remain there.’
‘That would be a waste. There is no problem in getting from Sweden to England, surely.’
‘It takes time. Why should I wish to go to England?’
‘Because you are now working for me.’
‘Am I? Simply because you know about my private life? Once I leave Germany you cannot touch me. And what you may publish about me is irrelevant. Outside of Germany.’
The Game of Treachery Page 16
