Operation Kingfisher

by Hilary Green

  ‘Perhaps there’s only one person in there,’ Luke suggested lamely.

  She sighed.

  ‘Well, we’re here now. I suppose we had better try.’

  There was only one person behind the counter, a slight, earnest-looking young man with glasses. Luke was about to speak when the door opened behind him and an elderly lady came in. He stood back and gestured to her to take his place.

  ‘After you, Madame.’

  She gave him a suspicious look, but walked past him to the counter, where she engaged the pharmacist in a long, low-voiced discussion and eventually left with her bottle of medicine. The young man turned to Luke,

  ‘Yes?’

  Luke took a deep breath.

  ‘We’re looking for Cyrano.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Cyrano. We’ve got a message for him.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know anyone of that name. It’s a character in a play isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s a man as well.’ Luke was beginning to feel desperate. ‘I brought him here, a few days ago. He had to meet someone. He’d hurt his ankle and I brought him on my bike.’ He saw the man’s eyes narrow, as if the description meant something to him. ‘He’s a music teacher, here in Corbigny.’

  There was a pause. The pharmacist studied him for a moment.

  ‘A music teacher, you say? I think I might know who you mean. What did you want him for?’

  ‘We have an urgent message for him. It’s … it’s to do with his job.’

  Another silence. Then the pharmacist appeared to come to a decision.

  ‘You’ll have to wait until I close the shop. Come through here. You can wait in the back room.’

  He raised the flap in the counter and led them through into a small, stuffy room that doubled as a store cupboard.

  ‘Wait here. I shall be closing in just over half an hour.’

  He shut the door and left them alone.

  ‘I think we’re on the right lines,’ Luke said with relief. ‘He must know what I’m talking about.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Christine said. ‘For all we know, he could be phoning the nearest German camp.’

  ‘Don’t! Why would he do that? If Cyrano came here, he must be OK.’

  ‘Well, I wish he’d offered us a drink,’ she said. ‘I’m parched.’

  The minutes dragged by and the room became stuffier. Luke went to the door and tried it.

  ‘He’s locked us in!’

  ‘Why? He wouldn’t hand us over to the Boche, would he? Not really?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Luke sat down on a stool and ran his hands through his hair. ‘No, surely not. Perhaps he just doesn’t want us coming back into the shop, in case there’s a customer there who would ask awkward questions.’

  They heard footsteps outside and the door was opened. The pharmacist stood there.

  ‘Come!’

  ‘Why did you lock us in?’ Christine demanded. ‘We don’t mean any harm.’

  ‘This way,’ was the only response.

  He led them down a passage and opened a door at the rear of the shop. Darkness had fallen, complete because of the blackout, and it was hard to make out where they were. Luke reached for his sister’s hand and they stumbled forward, following the shadowy figure of the pharmacist.

  Suddenly he was grabbed from behind, a hand was clamped over his mouth and something that smelt of old sacking was thrown over his head. He kicked out blindly and heard a grunt of pain but then his legs were seized and he was lifted bodily off the ground. He felt himself being carried and then swung and dumped roughly, face down, onto a hard surface. He tried to speak, to protest or explain, but the sack was pulled up and a piece of cloth was forced between his teeth and tied behind his head. At the same time, somebody else bound his hands and feet. Seconds later, he heard doors slam and then an engine started and the vehicle he was in, whatever it was, lurched off over uneven ground.

  He lay still, struggling not to gag on the cloth in his mouth, his mind whirling. No one had spoken, so there was nothing to give him a clue about the nationality of his captors, but it seemed to him that the Germans would have been more open. They would have marched into the room with their guns at the ready and handcuffed them. So if these were not Germans, who were they? What was more important, where was his sister? He had not heard her cry out, but then, he had not had time to cry out either.

  A movement close beside him told him that she had suffered the same fate. He wriggled across the floor until his shoulder touched hers. She made an inarticulate noise of mingled fear and pain and he nudged her and made what he hoped was a reassuring noise in return. She wriggled closer and they lay against each other, drawing what comfort they could from the contact. The engine note of the vehicle changed and Luke realized that they were climbing, going back up into the forest. Was it possible, he asked himself, that they were the captives of the Maquis? If so, what did that portend? Clearly, the man in the pharmacy had not trusted them. He must have thought that they were spies or collaborators. How could they convince their captors otherwise?

  Similar thoughts were going through Christine’s mind, but one predominated; if they were in the hands of the Maquis they were presumably being taken to their camp. And that was where Cyrano would be. Cyrano would vouch for them and they would be set free. She clung to that thought as the truck bumped and swayed. Face down and unable to steady themselves, their heads were banged against the metal floor every time the vehicle hit a bump and before long, the pain in Christine’s bound arms became almost unbearable. Luke groaned as they hit a deep pothole and she could hear herself whimpering. She bit down on the filthy rag in her mouth and forced herself to be silent.

  At last, the truck swung round in a tight curve and came to a standstill. There was another agonising wait, and then the sound of the rear doors being opened. Hands grabbed them and dragged them out, their feet were untied and they were shoved roughly forwards, stumbling on numbed legs. Christine was dimly aware that the ground she trod on was soft; grass or leaf mould, not paving stones, and something about the quality of the sounds around her indicated that they were in the open air.

  Hands reached under the sack that still covered her head and the gag was untied and a voice demanded in French, ‘Who are you?’

  Her mouth was so parched that she was unable to speak, but she heard Luke croak, ‘We’re friends of Cyrano’s. We’ve come with a very important message.’

  ‘Name?’ the voice snapped.

  ‘Luke Beauchamps – and my sister is Christine.’

  ‘Let’s have a look at them.’

  Hands pulled the sack off her head and she saw that they were standing in a forest clearing. In the centre, a fire was burning and dark figures stood between her and its light. One of them stepped forward and grabbed her arm, pulling her nearer to the fire.

  ‘Sister, eh?’

  ‘Yes,’ she managed to whisper. Then, her voice coming back to her, ‘Luke’s my brother. Please, where is Cyrano? He will tell you that we’re on your side. We just want to help.’

  ‘On our side, eh? And whose side is that?’

  She was beginning to make out his features in the dim light. He was very dark, with a mop of curly hair and a beard trimmed close to his chin; tall and broad-shouldered with powerful fingers that held her arm in a vice-like grip.

  ‘Your side,’ she replied, confused. ‘You’re with the Maquis, aren’t you?’

  ‘And what do you know about the Maquis?’

  ‘I know you are fighting the Boche. And Cyrano has been sent to help you. Please, is he here?’

  ‘This Cyrano you keep talking about, who is he?’

  ‘He’s…’ she stopped suddenly. If these were not the people to whom Cyrano had been sent, then she must not give away the fact that he was a British agent. She remembered that the Maquis was not a single organized body; they were simply men who had escaped to the forest for various reasons and, according to popular myth, many of them were nothing
more than bandits. It was quite possible that they had fallen into the hands of a different group.

  ‘He’s what?’ her captor demanded. ‘What were you going to say?’

  ‘It’s a nickname, that’s all.’

  ‘A nickname for whom? Come on, you say you have an important message. Who is it for?’

  From behind her, Luke said, ‘He’s a music teacher, in Corbigny. We heard he was with the Maquis. Maybe we got it wrong.’

  ‘So what is this important message, that you have to give to a music teacher? You want to tell him that Mozart is dead, huh?’

  He chuckled at his own wit and some of the men standing around the fire joined in.

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ Christine said.

  ‘Oh yes, you can. If this message concerns the Maquis, you can tell it to me – and you will. I assure you of that.’

  ‘Look, it’s not to do with the Maquis,’ Luke said and Christine could tell that he was improvising desperately. She prayed that it was not so obvious to the man holding her arm. ‘It’s just a personal matter … to do with his family.’

  Their captor seemed to find this very amusing.

  ‘Personal, eh? And you have come all the way from – where? – to give him this news. Where have you come from? Show me your papers.’

  ‘I can’t. I lost them. That’s why we…’ he tailed off into silence.

  ‘Why you what?’ Getting no answer he jerked his head towards one of his men. ‘Search them.’

  Rough hands delved into her pockets, pulling out her penknife, her torch, the small first aid kit, the stub of pencil and the rest of the bits and pieces that she had put there in case of emergencies.

  Inevitably, they found her identity card and ration card and handed them to their chief.

  ‘Nothing on him,’ the man who was searching Luke reported. ‘Maybe he’s telling the truth?’

  ‘Or maybe he just doesn’t want us to know who he is. Bring him here, closer to the fire. Handsome fellow, eh? Blonde, blue eyes, just like a German.’ He gave Christine’s arm a rough shake. ‘So, who is he? Your boyfriend? You’ve been consorting with the enemy, you little whore! And they’ve sent you to infiltrate our group.’

  ‘No! It’s not true. He’s my brother. We’re both French. That is….’

  The man was examining her papers.

  ‘You’re from the Auvergne. What are you doing in these parts? How did you get here? Did the Boche send you?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘So tell me, how did you get here?’

  ‘I can’t!’

  ‘Oh yes, you can.’ His voice had softened. ‘You’ll be surprised how much you can tell me when … when you are in the right mood. Come here, nearer to the fire.’ He jerked her arm, forcing her forwards and made a gesture to one of his men, who reached out and pulled a branch from the flames, the end still glowing. He handed it to his chief and Christine shrank back as she felt the heat from it approaching her face.

  ‘Now,’ the soft voice went on, ‘what were you going to tell me?’

  ‘Leave her alone!’ Luke shouted. ‘You’ve got it all wrong. You don’t know what you are doing.’

  ‘Then you can explain it all to me,’ the chief said. ‘Tell me truthfully, who you are and what you are doing here.’

  ‘We have told you. It’s the truth.’

  ‘You’ll have to do better than that if you don’t want your girlfriend’s face scarred for life,’ the man snarled. ‘Come on. I give you thirty seconds.’

  ‘What can I say? There’s nothing else to tell.’ He was almost sobbing.

  ‘Twenty….’

  Christine forced back a scream as the red-hot brand came closer to her face.

  ‘Ten….’

  The noise of a motorbike engine approaching at speed shattered the silence. Christine’s captor turned towards the sound.

  ‘About time!’

  The bike skidded to a stop and a dark figure dismounted from the pillion and came towards them; and Christine gave a cry of relief when she saw that he walked with the aid of a stick.

  ‘Cyrano! It is you, isn’t it? Oh, thank God! Please, tell these men who we are. Tell them we don’t mean any harm.’

  ‘What the hell is going on here?’ Cyrano demanded. ‘Xavier, what are you playing at? Let her go, for pity’s sake.’

  ‘Just a joke,’ the big man said, releasing Christine’s arm. ‘I wouldn’t have gone through with it. But I had to be sure they are telling the truth.’

  Cyrano limped closer.

  ‘What on earth are you doing here? You should be in Auxerre by now, at least.’

  ‘We were.’ Her voice was shaking. ‘But we saw something, something you have to know about, so we came….’

  He touched her arm.

  ‘OK. Tell me later. Xavier, tell your men to untie them. They are quite harmless, I promise you. If it wasn’t for them, I probably wouldn’t be here.’

  ‘If you insist. As long as you can vouch for them. But I hope you know what you’re doing.’ Xavier sounded sulky and Christine had the impression that he did not like being given orders by Cyrano.

  Cyrano said, ‘I’m sorry, Xavier. I’m not trying to question your authority, but I’m quite sure they are trustworthy and I do owe them a lot.’ He took Christine’s arm. ‘You poor kid. You look just about done in. Come over here and sit down.’

  While he was speaking, their hands had been untied and they were led closer to the fire, where several tree trunks had been carved into rough seats. Christine sank down on one, thankful to sit before her shaking legs gave way under her.

  Xavier was saying, ‘No harm done. But it’s a good job you arrived when you did. We don’t want strangers turning up uninvited.’ He raised his voice. ‘Bring some warm wine for our guests.’

  ‘Water!’ Christine croaked. ‘I’d rather have water.’

  A tin mug was pressed into her hand, but she was shaking so much that it rattled against her teeth and spilled down her chin. To her shame, she found she was crying. Cyrano put his arm across her shoulders and murmured gently, ‘It’s OK. You’re quite safe now. Let me help you.’

  He guided her hand and the cool water flooded her mouth, but her throat was so parched, that it was hard to swallow. She choked and he said, ‘Take it easy. Just a sip to begin with. There, that’s better.’

  She managed to swallow a trickle of water, then a little more, until finally she was able to drain the mug.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered huskily, and he patted her shoulder in response and turned away to ask, ‘Luke? Are you all right?’

  ‘Just about,’ Luke responded shakily. ‘Thank God you arrived when you did.’

  ‘I was up a tree, sending a message,’ Cyrano said. ‘It’s the only place where I can get decent reception. Luckily, Xavier sent one of his men to fetch me.’

  ‘He knew who you were all the time!’

  ‘Yes, of course. But you can understand that he had to be cautious. I’m sorry you were manhandled like that.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault. I suppose I can see Xavier’s point of view. We must have looked suspicious.’

  ‘I don’t understand what you are doing here,’ Cyrano said. ‘What on earth could be so important that you came back?’

  As briefly as he could, Luke explained what they had seen at Auxerre.

  ‘We thought that, if the Allies knew what was happening, the boats would be sitting targets for bombs. Then it occurred to us that you could probably get word to the people who need to know. You could, couldn’t you?’

  ‘Certainly! And it will be very useful information.’ Cyrano clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Well done, both of you! You took a big risk coming back, and you’ve had a pretty rotten time for your trouble. But I’ll make sure the powers-that-be know where the information came from and the courage it required to bring it to me.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I don’t have another sked – a scheduled transmission – until tomorrow morning. But I don’t think a delay of a few hour
s will matter, do you? Those boats aren’t going to get anywhere very quickly. Now,’ he got up, ‘let’s try to make up for what you’ve been through. Where’s that warm wine, Xavier? And when did you last eat?’

  The rest of the evening passed in a haze for Christine. The wine went to her head and then there was a delicious smell of roasting meat, as chunks of lamb were barbecued over the fire. Cyrano put a blanket around her shoulders, and she looked up at him and knew that the fear and the danger had been worth it. Then someone handed her a plate and by the time she had finished eating, she was almost asleep. Her last memory was of being helped across the clearing to a small tent, where a straw-filled palliasse was laid out for her. She looked for Luke and saw that he was settling down beside her, then she pulled the blanket over her head and slept instantly.

  Chapter 12

  Christine woke to the smell of wood smoke and the sound of an axe. Beside her, Luke was sitting up, rubbing his face drowsily. Hearing her groan, he looked around and grinned.

  ‘Sore head?’

  ‘Sore everywhere,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Not surprised. You were sozzled last night.’

  ‘No I wasn’t! I was just tired. And I suppose you’re good as new and full of beans.’

  He ran his hands ruefully through his hair. ‘No, to be honest. I feel as if I’d gone ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer. I’m stiff from the cycle ride and bruised all over after being thrown about in that van.’

  She struggled into a sitting position.

  ‘Me, too. Still, here we are – and it was worth it, wasn’t it?’ Cyrano’s warm words came back to her, soothing the pain in her head.

  ‘Definitely,’ Luke agreed. ‘Who’d have thought it? We’re actually with the Maquis.’

  ‘Only temporarily,’ she reminded him.

  She peered out and saw the Maquis camp properly for the first time; hidden among the trees around the clearing, were an assortment of shelters. Some were tents, others rough constructions of logs and branches with tarpaulins for roofs. The camp was already awake. The fire was alight and a fat man was stirring a large pot hung over it. Someone just out of her vision was chopping wood and as she watched, two men came out of the forest carrying buckets of water. It reminded her of a pressing need.