by David Gilman
He had roamed the streets, barely able to find his way back to the barracks, as lost in the city as any counterpart would be in the countryside, but then the city yielded the nudge his memory needed. He was sitting in a pavement café looking across to the opposite side of the street and the long queue at a bus stop. A trolleybus went past with its destination showing in the panel above the driver’s cab. Rue Bertier. He tossed a few coins on the table, ran across the street and held his identity card for the huddled crowd to see. Ignoring the murmured resentment he pushed his way on to the crowded bus. Twenty minutes later the bus turned to make its way back and Inspector Paul Berthold’s memory finally gave up the number 29.
*
Leutnant Hesler studied the triangulation information that he had worked on so diligently for the past weeks. His RDF vans had quartered the city, closing in, district by district until now, finally, Hesler had got his lucky break. He knew it was pointless reporting to Stolz unless he had key information. And the chart he held in his hands was key. It was a game between the British wireless operators and himself and they were always the weak link when any enemy agent was sent. He thought of those he knew who had been caught, tortured and executed. Brave people, he admitted to himself. It was a courage he did not have. As he immersed himself in the challenge he occasionally thought of the operator he was hunting. A sense of compassion lurked dangerously within him, but it was always put to one side, and when his prey made a mistake, as he predicted she would, then that was when he, Leutnant Karl Hesler, would find her.
Stolz looked at the markers that Hesler had drawn on the graph paper. ‘Explain.’
‘Sir, this is the operating frequency that she often uses and this is where we compared signal strengths in different locations. This operator increased her wireless traffic before and after the bombing raid and the destruction of the turntable at the marshalling yards. Normally she does not transmit for more than ten minutes at a time, but this time she did. It might have been a long message or there could have been a break in her signal, or London did not understand the message and she had to repeat it. I did not have her codes for this transmission, she must have different ones, but she took a risk. I suspect, sir, that she must have been sending co-ordinates and timings for the bombers. I sent the vans in an ever-tighter circuit and we did not lose the signal. I cannot yet pinpoint the street or the building but I will. She is definitely in the Ninth Arrondissement and I believe’ – Hesler laid a map on the desk next to his graph – ‘that she is within this area here. It’s only a matter of time, colonel.’
‘Hesler, when we capture a radio operator we hold the key to a door. It opens their whole circuit to us.’
‘I will have her, sir, and when I do, you will have the English agent Pascal.’
‘And you are certain there is only one enemy wireless operator transmitting in the city? And that it is a woman?’
‘Yes, sir. As we can imagine a clandestine operator’s life is a fearful one. They are alone in enemy territory. They often need a sense of not being… abandoned. She always signs off the same way.’
‘Which is?’
‘“Love to everyone.”’
53
Mitchell nursed a drink as he sat in a café. The intensity of the journey from the night of the aircraft crash to the demands of setting up in Paris had tired him more than he thought possible. The loss of the men who had helped him, who had sacrificed themselves, weighed heavily, as did that of the men he had killed. But the fear that Juliet and her daughter were under surveillance by the Gestapo because of Jean Bernard’s sister caused even greater anxiety. Luck had been on his side so far, but he knew that sooner or later it would run out. It was time to get Alfred Korte away from Paris and that would at least mean he had achieved a major part of his mission here. It was still impossible to know who the traitor might be. There were too many people involved who had sufficient knowledge to betray an agent. It might also be the case that London was wrong. The city was riddled with informers and corrupt officials. For a moment he reflected on how clever it was of the Germans to use the French to betray their fellow citizens. Only another Frenchman would pick up indiscreet comments that could lead to arrests, torture and further information. The hatred the French felt now was directed less towards the brutality of the German occupiers and more towards their fellow countrymen who betrayed them. There was no doubt that a day of reckoning would come. Despite Mitchell achieving as much as he had there was still one essential piece of information that he had not yet discovered and that was where his daughter was being held – if she was still alive. He waited patiently for Vanves to show himself. The sergeant would have documents for Juliet and Simone and Jean Bernard’s family and they would be relocated that night. What gnawed at him was that he had instructed the corrupt gendarme to discover the fate of his daughter, Danielle. It was news he dreaded but hope rose above such fear.
Mitchell drained the glass when he saw Jules Vanves leave the Préfecture and set off home, where he had agreed to meet him with the new identity cards for the family. Watching the gendarme leave work was an added precaution to ensure the man was not being followed – Mitchell did not know if Vanves had dared to betray him or had been clumsy enough to arouse suspicion. By the time Vanves was out of sight Mitchell was satisfied that he was not being tailed. He made his way towards Vanves’s house, criss-crossing the streets and making sure that he was not being followed either. He was still uncertain about Gaétan’s man, Edmond. By the time he reached Vanves’s house the policeman had already been home for an hour and was nervously waiting for him.
‘You’re late,’ he said, tilting the window blinds in case anybody was watching.
‘I had to check neither of us was followed. It’s all right, Jules. No one knows about us.’
Madame Vanves stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked as concerned as her husband; the confidence she had exuded when he last saw her was gone. ‘Henri, is Jules in trouble? Please tell us. I know that he has been so worried since you came back to the city.’
‘Denise, please. This is private business between Henri and myself,’ said her husband.
Mitchell stepped towards her and took her cold, damp hands in his own. ‘It’s nothing to worry about. Jules is a good friend who is helping me find my daughter. That’s all. You mustn’t worry. I would not put your family in danger.’
She looked up into his face and nodded. ‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘Do not let any harm come to us. I beg you.’
‘I won’t,’ said Mitchell.
She walked back to the kitchen, and then turned. ‘Are you staying for supper, Henri?’
‘No, thank you, Denise,’ he said gently and smiled.
The two men waited until the kitchen door closed behind her. Vanves opened his satchel and took out the ration cards ‘This is the best I could do. I will have the identity cards in the next couple of days.’
‘Good. Well done, Jules.’
Vanves’s hands trembled as he gave Mitchell a set of keys. ‘This apartment has been empty for a year. The furniture is still there. The family were not deported; they escaped to Sweden. He was a businessman. No one will ask any questions. Here’s the address.’ He handed Mitchell a slip of paper. ‘I have arranged everything, Henri. Exactly as you instructed. But there is also bad news for you. I have checked the records.’
Mitchell’s throat tightened.
‘Your wife, Suzanne Colbert, was executed. I am so very sorry, Henri. Denise and I liked her very much.’
Although Mitchell had not admitted he knew of his wife’s death, the image of her being shot loomed into his thoughts. His grief-stricken look was genuine and Vanves reached out a comforting hand and gripped his shoulder. ‘Take heart. Your daughter is alive. She is imprisoned in La Santé. Now I know that is bad,’ he said quickly, ‘but I have a contact there. The conditions are terrible, certainly, but she is with other women and has not been molested or harmed in any way. That is
a comfort I can offer you. That and… this.’ He handed Mitchell a grubby identity card. It was stained, and some of the dark stains Mitchell thought to be blood. He thumbed open the card and saw the innocent face of his daughter. For a moment he almost choked. He swallowed hard.
‘Thank you, Jules. You have done well,’ he said, the rush of relief making him light-headed for a moment.
‘But I must ask you something. Once I deliver the identity cards, will that be enough for you to leave us in peace?’
‘I won’t bother you again unless I have no choice.’ Vanves’s face crumpled in despair, and now it was Mitchell who gripped his arm. ‘I am going to make sure that you and Denise and your son remain safe. You have my word on that.’
He left the frightened man and paced the back streets, routes familiar from his past. The confirmation of his daughter’s place of incarceration had caused a pressure in his chest. At every step, he thought through different plans of getting her released. And at every turn, his logic defeated such ideas. Somehow he had to use Vanves to find the answer but a lowly gendarme sergeant would have no influence with the German Army Command. When he eventually lifted his head he realized that he had made his way to Montparnasse and thoughts of his daughter had guided him to Rue de La Santé. Mitchell stopped and gazed up at the high grey-green walls of the imposing prison. Somewhere in the darkness within those walls his child was confined in a hell hole of filth and violence, a place where prisoners were guillotined in front of other inmates. He turned his back on the grim edifice and pushed his despair from his mind. There would be a way to get her out. He just hadn’t found it yet.
*
Mitchell went to the address that Vanves had given him for the apartment. It was in the Fifth Arrondissement. It would take at least three hours for Jean Bernard to gather everyone; they would leave his sister’s apartment with little more than the clothes they wore and a small case for each adult and child. Their leaving should not cause any suspicion as many Parisians carried suitcases these days: a few possessions bartered or sold on the black market kept many alive. After twenty minutes of observing the street and pedestrian traffic he was confident no one was watching the building. He found a telephone booth and telephoned Frank Burton at the hospital and explained that he wanted an escape plan for Juliet and the others in place within the next twenty-four hours. Train tickets for the family were to be delivered to the new apartment by someone Burton trusted. The conversation was brief and to the point. After he hung up Mitchell crossed the road and let himself into the building. If there was a concierge there was no sign of them. He climbed the stairs to the third floor. The apartment smelled musty but was bright and spacious, and it was obvious that the family who had escaped the city were comfortably well off. A large oriental rug spread across the wooden herringbone floor in the living room. There were three bedrooms, a bathroom and an alcove kitchen. Mitchell ran the taps and turned on the gas. Heavy curtains hung each side of the window that gave on to a park and a good line of sight up and down the street. He settled into one of the overstuffed chairs and felt a wave of tiredness engulf him. His head dropped to his chest.
The steady, slow tapping on the apartment door startled him awake. His heartbeat settled as he peered through the peephole and then opened the door to Jean Bernard, his sister and Marcel with Juliet and Simone. The two women had shopping bags and a small suitcase barely big enough to hold a change of clothes. The children had their school satchels and carried a small suitcase.
‘If anyone asked I was going to tell them the family were going to visit relatives in the country,’ said Jean Bernard as they were ushered inside.
The size of the apartment clearly impressed everyone. Madame Tatier threw off her coat and delved into her shopping bag, pulling out two loaves of bread and other pieces of food wrapped in brown paper. Juliet did the same.
‘We didn’t know how long we would be staying so just in case we couldn’t get any food we brought what we could,’ said Juliet.
‘Cheese and some meat that I bartered,’ said Madame Tatier.
Simone hugged Mitchell. ‘Uncle Pascal. I haven’t seen you for ages. I missed you.’
Now he’d had news of his daughter and seen her picture again, Mitchell felt able to admit to himself that he had enormous affection for this child. He kissed the top of her head. ‘Come with me. I’m going to show you a nice room for you and your mother.’ She took his hand as he led her through to one of the bedrooms. It held two single beds. ‘I thought you might like to have the one nearest the wall, away from the window. What you think?’
Simone tested the bed and smiled. ‘This is a wonderful place. Are we going to live here forever?’
Mitchell held back from telling her his plans. A child’s joy and sense of safety should be protected. ‘We’ll see.’
He joined the others in the main room where the two women quickly arranged food and prepared the dining table with place settings. There was already water boiling on the stove. ‘You have found everything then?’ said Mitchell.
Juliet held up some cutlery she was laying on the table. ‘Everything is here. You have wealthy friends by the look of it.’ She smiled as if this was a dinner party for friends and there was no lurking danger. Her smile held him and without thinking he touched her arm as he stepped past. The tender gesture was unconscious and he saw the flush of warmth creep up her neck.
Marcel had run around the apartment in and out of every room. Jean Bernard settled him down to read a book and stood close to Mitchell so he would not be overheard. ‘There has been no contact with the boy from the Gestapo agent but if he’s not in the park then they’ll know something is wrong and raid my sister’s apartment.’
‘They won’t find you here. We’re on the other side of the city.’
‘They’ll go to the hospital looking for me though. They know where I work.’
‘I’ve spoken to Frank. We have people who will get you all to Spain. I’ll explain later. In the meantime, he’ll tell anyone who asks that you just didn’t turn up for your shift. He tried phoning your apartment but got no reply. It’s Paris. People go missing all the time.’ He glanced at Marcel. ‘I will have new identity cards for you all. Will your sister be able to convince the boy that he has to play along with a new name?’
‘He’s a good kid. He’ll be fine.’
Mitchell nodded. ‘All right, everyone. I have to leave so I need to explain what’s happening.’
He gathered them around the table. Marie Tatier brought Marcel to sit with her. ‘You had to leave your apartment, Madame Tatier, because sooner or later the Germans would have arrested you, and then Jean Bernard and Juliet along with Simone would all have been in danger. I have food tickets. You won’t need them all; you won’t be here long enough. I suggest Madame Tatier and Juliet do the shopping. Simone, you are going to be Marcel’s teacher for a couple of days. This will be your classroom.’
‘No school?’ said Marcel happily.
‘No. You and Simone will stay in the apartment. Your mothers can take you out to the park across the road. Jean Bernard will pick up identity cards that are being arranged for you in the next day or so. For your own safety I’m not going to tell you where you’re going. Not yet. But you have to trust me. No harm will come to you here. No one will ask questions because they won’t want to take the risk. For all they know you could be friends of people with influence.’
Juliet saw him to the door, embraced him and kissed his cheek. ‘Thank you for everything.’
‘You’re going to Spain, Juliet,’ he told her quietly. ‘Jean Bernard knows already. I didn’t want to say anything in front of the children. We have a feeder line with people we trust. You and Simone will see out the war there. I thought you might have been safe here in Paris but that’s not the case any longer.’
She studied his face. ‘Are they after you?’
‘I think so. Probably. And I’m running out of time to finish what still has to be done.’
; She pressed herself gently against him. ‘Come with us, Pascal. I fear for you.’
The moment caught him by surprise as he felt an urgent desire for her. A sense of loss swept over him as he realized he did not want to lose her. He heard himself say, ‘Get your coat. There’s a small hotel nearby.’
54
They undressed slowly, smiling with anticipation yet still slightly uncertain and embarrassed. He was already aroused when she gave a playful, teasing striptease, loosening her bra, hiding her breasts and then letting her arms drop. Her arms and legs were tanned; she had a lithe body with thighs strong enough to walk miles across rugged ground and their tautness extended to her bottom. She didn’t look old enough to have a thirteen-year-old daughter. It was she who took the initiative and pulled his head down to her lips. They shared a sexual urgency that released tension and relinquished grief from the loss both had endured. After they made love for the first time she laughed with joy, and insisted he stay on top of her, still inside, his weight suffocating the hidden pain and distress the months had inflicted on her. In whispers she told him how frightened she had been, and how as their journey north had unfolded she had watched him and felt her attraction towards him grow, and how she had recognized the gentleness that was disguised by the actions he had been obliged to take and his burden of responsibility for their lives. And finally she told him how she had determined to seek the safety of his protection.
