V for Vengeance

by Dennis Wheatley

  Kuporovitch shrugged. ‘I should be a fool if I didn’t realise that. It’s you who are the fool, Herr Major, because you do not realise that you’re facing a man who does not mind if he dies. At the moment I have nothing to live for. However, I’m here to see if we can’t alter that. If you’re prepared to do as I tell you I shall then have something to live for again. If not, then neither of us will leave this room alive.’

  Major Schaub, in fact, was no fool at all, and his swift brain had already put two and two together. Ignoring Kuporovitch’s pistol, he sat down on the bed and said: ‘Then you’ve come here about that pretty little French girl you’re interested in, eh? The one you’d been dining with the first time we met, and you know that we pulled her in again last night. Not on suspicion this time, though: she’s facing a charge of conspiracy against the Third Reich.’

  ‘Whatever charge you’ve made against her—if she ever has to face it, you’ll be dead first!’ the Russian replied quietly. ‘Have I made myself clear?’

  ‘Quite clear,’ nodded the Major. ‘You’ve managed to bribe or smuggle your way in here with the idea of threatening me with death unless I’m willing to give you an order for the release of your girl friend?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Well, I’ll tell you here and now that you’re not going to get it. If you set no value on your skin you can shoot me if you like. If you do you’ll be shot yourself before you get ten yards down the corridor, and that won’t do your girl friend any good. Still, I’ve no wish to be shot; so if you like I’ll make a bargain with you. Go as you came, and I’ll give you five minutes’ start; but that’s all I’m prepared to do. Now take your choice!’

  Kuporovitch realised that his bluff had been called, but as he was a completely ruthless person he had by no means exhausted the possibilities of the situation. Flicking over the safety-catch of his pistol, he walked quietly up to the Major and said: ‘It’s a pity that you’re not prepared to be reasonable.’ Then, without warning, he suddenly swung the hand that held his gun so that it struck the Major hard on the side of the face.

  As the German’s mouth opened to let out a yell Kuporovitch dropped the gun and leapt upon him, burying his thumbs and fingers in the Major’s neck and forcing him back upon the bed.

  Wolfram Schaub was a strong man, but he was no match for the weighty Russian. In vain he tore frantically at the choking fingers until red circles began to spin in the blackness before his eyes; then his adversary picked him up bodily and banged his head twice against the bedroom wall. Dazed by the blows, and with his cheek bleeding from a nasty cut where the pistol had gashed him, he collapsed in a limp heap.

  Three minutes later Kuporovitch had him trussed up with the blind-cords and lightly gagged so that he could mutter, but not shout. Then, propping his enemy up on the bed against the wall, the Russian stood there, grinning with diabolical satisfaction at his handiwork.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘must I show you some of the tricks that the Cheka used to practise on their Czarist prisoners, or will you sign the order that I require?’

  Schaub shook his head.

  ‘All right then. We’ll see just how much guts you really have. There was nothing particularly brave in calling my bluff just now. You knew very well that I should not be such a fool as to shoot you and bring half the Nazis in this huge rabbit warren running with their guns; but I have never believed that the Germans are a courageous people. The Russians, now, are really brave, and so are the British. It is one thing which the two races have in common—both of us are used to losing battles, but we fight on just the same, because we refuse to acknowledge it when we are beaten. That is why neither country has ever been defeated in a major war.’

  The Tartar streak in Kuporovitch had now come to the surface. Time had ceased to exist for him, and the fact that he was alone in the citadel of his enemies had passed from his mind as he went on: ‘Even in the First World War you never broke the spirit of us Russians. It took two Revolutions, six months apart, before we were forced out of the game. But you Germans are different; like all other European races, there have been times when your country has been overrun and you have been compelled to sue for peace. You are great fellows—as long as you are victorious and fighting people who are not so well armed or organised as yourselves; but once things begin to go against you it’s a very different story. You throw your hands up in the air and yell ‘Kamerad!’ Now, will you sign the paper that I want from you, or must I give you a little of the medicine that you have been giving to other people?’

  Again the Major shook his head.

  ‘As you wish,’ Kuporovitch grinned. ‘Quite honestly, I’m going to enjoy this, because I dislike you Nazis, and I’ve been waiting to get a crack at one for quite a little time. I wonder if you ever heard of a young woman called Paula von Steinmetz?’

  On the Major making no sign Kuporovitch continued: ‘The little Paula was a friend of mine. She made a most delightful mistress, but whenever I think of the life you filthy Nazis forced that poor child to lead it makes me almost physically sick. Honest marriage suits some people, and recently I’ve come to feel that even in my own case there is much to be said for it. Free love I do not mind. What would we healthy fellows do without it? Prostitution is fair enough in a world that has not yet learnt to organise itself better. But you devils had Paula’s brother in a concentration camp. By a threat of torturing him to death you forced her to give herself to Norwegians and Dutchmen and Belgians—in order that she might recruit Fifth Columnists for you—and that I do not like at all. This comes to you from Paula.’

  As he spoke the last word the Russian hit the Major a savage blow in the mouth with his clenched fist, but he did not stop there. He proceeded to lam into him, right, left, and centre, until both his eyes were closed, his face half pulp, and he was writhing in agony from terrific punches in the solar plexus.

  Breathing a little heavily, Kuporovitch at length let up, helped himself to a cigarette, lit it and began to look through the drawers of the Major’s dressing-table until he found some sheets of official paper and a fountain-pen. Then he turned round and undid the now blood-soaked towel which he had used to gag his victim.

  Schaub was still conscious, as, despite the ruthless ferocity of his attack, Kuporovitch had been careful not to strike him any blow that would have knocked him out. Taking him by the shoulder, the Russian dragged him up into a sitting position and shook him roughly, as he said:

  ‘Do you want a little more, or are you prepared now to do your stuff?’

  The Major spat out a loose tooth, mumbled a stream of blasphemies, then murmured: ‘All right, you hell-hound. You win! But as sure as my name’s Wolfram I’ll get even with you for this—before you’re much older.’

  ‘The future will take care of itself,’ replied Kuporovitch, untying the German’s hands, and pushing him over to the dressing-table where he had set out the pen and paper. ‘No monkey-tricks now,’ he added. ‘I know that Madeleine Lavallière is in the Cherche-Midi, so I want an order from you to the Governor of the prison to hand her over without questions to anyone who may present that paper to him. If you try to double-cross me I’ll get back here somehow and skin you alive.’

  The S.S. man had no more fight left in him. He wrote out the order, signed it, and handed it to his captor. Kuporovitch put it in his pocket and said:

  ‘I’m not giving you the chance to raise an alarm until I’m out of this place. Get back on the bed now; I mean to tie you up and gag you again.’

  Obediently Schaub lay down and rested his aching head on the pillow; but before Kuporovitch inserted the gag in his mouth he managed one malicious twisted smile, as he snarled:

  ‘You think you’re mighty clever, don’t you? But he who laughs last laughs longest. The paper that I’ve written for you is all in order, but the Gestapo Chief at the Cherche-Midi would never give up one of his prisoners to a complete stranger, just on an order signed by me. He’d only do that if it were presented by one of o
ur own people or a French official of some standing. So you see, as far as you’re concerned, it’s only a piece of wastepaper. I’ll tell you another thing. My batman will find me here tomorrow morning. Directly I’m free I’m going to do a job which will hurt you much more than you’ve hurt me. I’m going along to the Cherche-Midi personally to re-examine Madeleine Lavallière. I don’t mind if she talks or if she doesn’t talk, but during our examination I’ll have her nails torn off her hands and feet, and her eyes put out. Now think that one over, damn you!’

  For answer Kuporovitch gave the Major one more heavy blow, this time an uppercut under the chin, which knocked him right out. Yet he was acutely worried now. He had a horrid feeling that Schaub had not been lying and that the paper he had been at such pains to get might, after all, prove valueless, and there was nothing more that he could extract from the German. Having tied him up and gagged him, he picked up his little brown bag and left the room, locking the door behind him.

  Stepping into the lift, he went down to the basement, nodded casually to a man whom he found there waiting for it, and without a backward glance hurried down the passages until he reached the coal-cellar. Entering it, he pulled off his white coat, put on his ordinary one, collected his overcoat from a corner where he had left it, and pushing up the cover of the manhole climbed out into the street.

  He had hardly reached it when a frightful thought struck him. Schaub had said that his soldier-servant would find him in the morning, but it was not yet eight o’clock; so it was almost certain that the servant would visit the room to tidy it up before the Major’s normal time of going to bed. He saw then that Schaub had naturally refrained from mentioning that for fear that if his attacker knew that he was likely to be released within the next hour or so he would have killed him to make certain of his silence.

  Kuporovitch wondered then why the hell he hadn’t killed the Major, while he had the chance. For a moment he contemplated going back to do so, but a few seconds’ thought was enough for him to realise that he had been extraordinarily lucky to have spent the best part of two hours in the headquarters of the German Army of Occupation without once being challenged or asked for a pass that he had not got. To go back again would be to tempt the gods. Dismissing the idea, he began to run down the street, now half-crazy with the knowledge that it would almost certainly be useless for him to present the order for Madeleine’a release that he held, and that through his own act he had brought about the possibility that within an hour or two Schaub would arrive at the Cherche-Midi to have her dragged off to the torture chamber.

  16

  ‘ Set a Thief …’

  As Kuporovitch hurried away from the Crillon his brain was in a whirl. He now felt certain that Schaub was right and that even on his signature the Gestapo Chief at the Cherche-Midi would never release a prisoner to an ordinary civilian who could produce no special credentials; yet how in thunder could he persuade or force a Gestapo man to co-operate with him?

  It occurred to him that if he could find one walking unaccompanied in a quiet part of the city he might attack him without warning in the blackout, stun and strip him of his uniform; but he threw out that idea almost as soon as he thought of it. His French had always been good, and now after the months he had spent in Paris it was extremely fluent; but his German was so limited that he knew no more than a score of expressions and stock phrases. To present himself at the Cherche-Midi in a German uniform when he was unable to speak the language, or understand it, would have been sheer madness.

  His next thought was that he might attack a French gendarme or agent de ville; but it seemed highly doubtful if the Gestapo would trust an ordinary French policeman with one of their prisoners, and he might search the streets of Paris all night without coming across a French police officer of lieutenant’s or captain’s rank. But that led to the idea that he might be able to borrow a uniform from Ribaud, so going into the nearest call-box he rang up the Sûreté.

  The lieutenant was not in his office. To his dismay, Kuporovitch learnt that the detective had gone out on some special work and was not expected back until the morning. All the odds were that by the morning it would be too late, and this blow to his hopes made the unfortunate Russian more agitated than ever.

  Endeavouring to calm himself so that he might think more clearly he left the box and tried to recall Schaub’s words exactly. After a little he felt certain the Major had said that the Gestapo would only release Madeleine to one of their own people or a French official of some standing, and it was then for the first time that he glimpsed a possible way out of this terrible situation.

  He had never met Luc Ferrière, but he had often heard Madeleine speak of him. Ferrière was the Mayor of Batignolles, and the mayor of an important district in Central Paris must certainly rank as a high French official, particularly as all mayors are also magistrates and have considerable powers with the police. Somehow or other, Monsieur Ferrière must be roped in to assist in Madeleine’s release.

  Instinctively, Kuporovitch had been hurrying in the direction of the Cherche-Midi, but he now turned about and dived into a Metro-station that he had just passed, taking a ticket to the Place Malesherbes, near which he knew the Mayor lived.

  On coming up from the underground at the other end he made a few enquiries and within twenty minutes of having first had his idea he was standing on the Mayor’s doorstep. The door was opened to him by the Mayor’s housekeeper, and to his immense relief he learned that Monsieur Ferrière was at home. He said that he did not know the Mayor, but had to see him on most urgent business. A few moments later he was shown into a small study, where Ferrière, wearing two dressing-gowns, one on top of the other, as a protection from the cold, was seated with a large stamp album open on a desk in front of him.

  While in the Metro Kuporovitch had considered how best to tackle the Mayor, and he had come to the conclusion that, if possible, it would be far better to trick him into giving his willing co-operation than to force him to it against his will, as in the latter case he was much more likely either to refuse his assistance altogether or betray them if some unforeseen circumstance arose. Recalling, too, that only that morning Lavinsky had mistaken him for a German, owing to his slight accent, he decided that he would, at all events, at first endeavour to convey the impression that he was German to Monsieur Ferrière without actually stating that he was. In consequence he greeted the Mayor affably, and said:

  ‘I trust, Monsieur le Maire, that you will forgive me for intruding upon you at this hour, but I have come direct from German Headquarters at the Crillon to see you on urgent business.’

  ‘In that case, no excuse is needed,’ smiled the tall, thin Mayor, standing up and waving Kuporovitch to a chair. ‘I am always happy to give the authorities my co-operation at any hour.’

  ‘I felt sure that would be so,’ Kuporovitch went on, ‘and I come to you with regard to Mademoiselle Madeleine Lavallière. I don’t know if you’ve yet been informed of it, but she was arrested yesterday evening.’

  The Mayor nodded, falling completely into the trap, and giving himself away to Kuporovitch in a manner that was entirely unexpected. ‘So your people took my tip and investigated that nursing-home she was running. I felt certain it was phoney when I visited it two days ago.’

  Kuporovitch was thinking: So that’s the way it was. Madeleine and the others owe their arrest to this dirty traitor’s visit. By God! He shall pay for it before we’re through with him!

  But his pleasant smile remained unaltered as he said: ‘The authorities are most grateful to you for your help, Monsieur le Maire. It was good work to break up this nest of spies and saboteurs; but they are not content to stop at that, and it has occurred to them that if they release some of the conspirators but keep a watch on them, they in due course, may lead us to other groups of which we as yet have no knowledge. It has been decided to release Mademoiselle Lavallière for this purpose. I wonder now if you would care to place the Gestapo in your debt still further?’<
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  ‘But of course,’ the Mayor spread out his long knobbly hands. ‘If there is anything that I can do you have only to suggest it.’

  ‘Very well then. This is the proposal. If Mademoiselle Lavallière is released without apparent reason, firstly, she may be suspicious and on that account refrain for a long time from contacting any of her associates; secondly, it will not be easy to keep a watch on her the whole time without her becoming aware that she is under supervision. You are a responsible French official and you have known her for a number of years. Saying that you had heard of her arrest in the ordinary way, it would not be unnatural if you endeavoured to use such influence as you possess on her behalf. The authorities would naturally listen to anybody in your position, and they might perhaps be persuaded to release her if you were prepared to guarantee for her good behaviour and have her to live in your house under your personal supervision.’

  ‘Ha, ha! I see!’ exclaimed the Mayor. ‘A clever move, that! She would then believe that there was no danger in her resuming her activities, while all the time I should be able to report to you regarding her movements.’

  ‘Exactly,’ beamed Kuporovitch. ‘May I take it that you are prepared to give your help?’

  ‘But certainly.’

  ‘Good then. I fear, though, I shall have to ask you to go out and get her at once, because speed in this matter is of the first importance. There must have been a number of people who were using that nursing-home who do not yet know that it has been raided. If Mademoiselle Lavallière is freed tonight, it is almost certain that she will try to get in touch with as many of them as she can to warn them about going back there. With luck, you may be able to get for us the telephone numbers which she uses immediately she returns here with you.’