Besides, Barbara would never agree to leave. And, she would round up anyone else willing to stay behind and continue fighting. He suspected they would all stay and fight. Deborah would be at the front of the line – right beside Barbara – encouraging the others to put up a fight regardless of the consequences, her refusal to accept defeat acting as a torch for the others to follow. He smiled. Even he would follow her.
Five hours later, his C2ID2 chimed. A dull, consistent ache had settled into his head. The throbbing in his injured ankle had once again intensified. His knuckles had transitioned into a tender, purple black, from where they had come in contact with the compartment door. He wondered if his body would ever be the same again after this continued and repeated torture inside the pod. His cells were dying, and he was not familiar enough with the equations to determine how long he’d need to avoid the pod to get back to normal. Whether or not he had a plan, the pod no longer provided a safe haven. He brushed past the open storage door and prepared for a daylight jump through the aerial portal. Hopefully the Germans have left the area.
Hiram dropped a surveillance drone through the aerial portal. It took the little aircraft a moment to stabilize. Then, as instructed, the drone began a slow downward spiral centered on the burned-out wreckage of Locard’s car. The military convoy was gone. The command vehicle lay off to the northern side of the road, as charred and mangled as the dead inspector’s car. Further east, a grey Citroën Traction Avant sat in the shade of several pine trees that bordered the road. He sent the drone in for a closer look.
One man leaned against the car’s right front fender, a cigarette between his lips. Inside the car, one man sat behind the wheel and a second in the back seat. The smoker opened the back door of the sedan and the rear seat passenger made an awkward advance toward the outside in dark slacks and an untucked, white undershirt. As the smoker assisted him, Hiram noticed the man’s hands cuffed behind his back. He was led into the trees. Either they’re going to let him take a piss or they plan to shoot him.
After a few minutes, both men emerged from the woods. The smoker forced the prisoner to take a seat on the ground near the car. Hiram zoomed in on his face. Well, that can’t be a coincidence!
Hiram recognized the prisoner as Garon Bertrand, Rosette’s husband. Rosette had once shown him a picture of the family in happier times, back before the man had turned his own family over to the French police. His current wary appearance seemed crafted out of annoyance more than fear. He could only speculate on the policemen’s interest in Garon. Had he and Locard been followed? He hadn’t noticed a tail, but he hadn’t been really looking for one. Without mirrors to see behind the vehicle, it would have been difficult to spot a tail from the backseat. Perhaps the sniveling dog of a man had made a deal with the police. That didn’t explain the handcuffs, however.
Another chime from the C2ID2 reminded him that he needed to get out of the pod and back to the real world.
* * *
1610 hours, Saturday, August 15, 1942, Lapalisse, Allier Department, Vichy France
Hiram dropped through the aerial portal into France five thousand meters above Garon Bertrand and his captors. He angled the wingsuit to land in a clearing near where he’d eaten fresh bread and homemade cheese with Oster and Locard. He managed a rather gentle landing though his ankle felt as though it folded beneath him despite the support of the cast. The sudden, intense pain made his eyes water and he clenched his teeth to avoid screaming. He could not afford to announce his position. He shed the wingsuit and stuffed the fabric into a thick patch of brush out of sight. He contacted Teams Charlie and Delta on the C2ID2. “Meet me in Mamirolle, over.”
Once each team responded, he headed towards the men in the Citroën. Dry branches and leaves crackled beneath his feet as he crept through the woods. He sent the little recon robot in close enough to pick up the conversation between the three men in the car.
“How much longer?” the driver asked. “We’ve been here for hours.”
The smoker said, “I don’t know. With the German column hogging the road, delays are inevitable.” He blew a stream of smoke upward into the air, not seeming to mind the afternoon break.
“Why am I here?” Bertrand demanded. “I’ve done nothing wrong! Turned in my wife just as soon as she showed up. I even turned in her Jew whelps.”
“Following Captain Petain’s orders. He said to pick you up, and that’s what we did,” the smoker said. “He’ll be here soon enough. You can ask him directly. For now, shut up and sit still.”
The name went off like a firecracker in Hiram’s head. He clenched his fists, sending his fingernails biting into his palm. Captain Petain had shot little Solange. Charlotte’s report about the girl’s death during the assault on the death train had been quite clear. And according to the late Inspector Locard, Captain Petain had initiated the search for Hiram and his team of escaped prisoners. Petain needed to pay. This time, Hiram would be prepared. He deployed four combat robots.
44
2200 hours, Saturday, August 15, 1942, Lapalisse, Allier Department, Vichy France
Louis Petain cursed the darkness. With only the blackout lights to lead the way, the truck made slow progress across the Allier Department. He understood the restriction and wanted to avoid drawing an Allied night fighter or dive bomber down on them, but every moment of delay allowed the situation in Vichy to spiral further out of control.
“There sir.” Corporal Chabot pointed to a sedan parked just off the road up ahead, a few meters from a blackened pile of twisted metal.
“Pull over.” Petain looked forward to riding the rest of the way in Lieutenant Lebeau’s Citroën. His body complained about the long, bumpy ride in the truck. As Chabot brought the vehicle to a halt, Petain opened his door. He climbed out, ran his hands over his wind tousled hair, and considered stretching to work out the irritating stiffness in his back. He could not afford any more delay and instead approached Lebeau.
“What do you have to report?” he said, without waiting for the man’s salute.
“Sir,” the lieutenant said, snapping to attention. “Inspector Locard and his companions encountered the military convoy at this intersection. I’m not exactly sure what happened. The German officer travelling with the Inspector got out of the car and waved down a command car. A few minutes later the Colonel – I think he was a Colonel, hard to tell from where we were watching-,” Lebeau said.
“I don’t have time for this,” Petain growled.
“Sorry sir,” Lebeau continued. “The Colonel said something to the commander of a passing halftrack. The halftrack opened fire on Locard’s car.” He nodded toward the nearby debris. “Sprayed bullets all over the damn thing. A few seconds later the car blew up. Hell of an explosion, sir. Destroyed the Inspector’s car. Killed the Germans in and around the SS command car. What do you think they were carrying?”
“You don’t know who was with Locard? And you don’t know why the SS opened fire on them?”
“Correct, sir.”
“What do you know Lebeau?”
“Sir, there is one thing.” Lebeau took his hat off. “They pulled a body from the wreckage of the Inspector’s car. I’m pretty sure it was Locard.”
“And the other man in the car?”
Lebeau shrugged.
“We can hope he was blown to bits,” Petain said.
“Well sir.” Lebeau worked the brim of his hat through his hands. “I’ve seen a lot of explosions since the war began. German. Allied. Partisans. We always find some fragment of the deceased. An arm or a leg. Always something. I don’t know how it’s possible, but I think the third man escaped somehow.”
“You should probably leave the thinking-.” Petain cut himself off, realizing that Lebeau’s assessment was accurate. If the third man escaped, where did he go?
“Did you search the area?” Petain asked.
Lebeau nodded. “The SS did a pretty thorough search themselves. They questioned us, demanded to see our papers
. I told them we were following up on information regarding Jews hiding in the area, showed them that list of names we’ve been carrying around, told him we arrested Bertrand on suspicion of harboring Jews. When they left, we searched again, didn’t find any evidence of him.”
Should I have my team search the area again? The men had climbed down out of the truck. They milled around the scene. He noticed a few men taking the time to stretch. Their lackadaisical movements irritated him and he considered throwing orders at them. He looked up at the sliver of a moon. It shed little light on the landscape. It would be a waste of time to send his men out into the woods in the dark.
He looked at the man seated on the ground. “Is this Ber-.” Lebeau suddenly pitched forward into Petain’s arms. He felt wetness on his face, tasted blood. Whirring filled the air around him, like nothing he had heard before. “Take cover!”
He watched as his men danced, arms flailing and bodies contorting. Ten seconds later, the sound ceased and his men lay still on the ground, twisted into odd poses. Wet blotches spread out over their clothing.
Something moved in the darkness behind him. He spun at the sound, drawing his sidearm as he turned. He emptied the pistol into the shadows, but the thing kept coming. Whatever it was, it wasn’t human. Louis Petain turned away from the thing, fled into the darkness.
A man appeared in front of him holding out a strange device.
“Get out of my way,” Petain growled as he kept running. Nothing is going to stop me from getting out of here.
The device lit up and a strange, yet painful burning sensation exploded in his chest. Every muscle throughout his body tightened. Then, he was falling. He tried to adjust his uncooperative feet, tried to throw his arms out to help with balance. He kept falling. Petain’s head collided with something solid on the ground and all at once the seizing stopped.
* * *
Once Petain was securely shackled, Hiram dragged him into the back seat of the Citroën. His training dictated that he do a thorough inspection and sanitization of the site, but his pounding head said otherwise. After dumping the bodies of the dead policemen into a pod, he slipped into the driver’s seat and put the car in gear.
* * *
Petain regained consciousness sometime later. The back of his head ached. Soreness radiated from his chest as if the entire front of his torso had survived a severe muscle cramp. He was in the backseat of a car that bumped along much too fast for his complaining head or the blackout conditions. He reached up to touch the aching place on his head. His hands moved no higher than his chest. He was shackled, hand and foot. After a moment, he noticed the man sitting next to him. He rustled the chains, testing their hold. The other man turned to him, eyes wide, terrified.
The driver glanced back over the seat. Petain jumped at the sight of the man’s monstrous face before he realized it was just a man in a mask and a pair of goggles.
“Who are you?” Petain asked.
The man in the goggles placed his right arm on the back of the front seat, a dull glow radiated from the man’s oversized watch. He spoke in what Petain guessed to be Hebrew. He had heard a rabbi speak in a similar tongue during the roundup as unheard prayers (or whatever the Jews called them) for the safety of his people poured out of him. Petain did not understand. He might as well have been talking in gibberish.
As the man’s words ended, a second voice – female – answered in French. “Hiram Halphen. I hear you’ve been searching for me these past few weeks. Now you’ve found me, Captain Petain.” The voice seemed to emanate from the mechanism on the man’s wrist.
“How are you doing that?” Petain’s curiosity outweighed his fear.
The man spoke in the Jewish tongue again.
“Magic,” the female voice said.
Petain figured it might not be healthy to push for further explanation. “Where are you taking me?”
“To the Jura Mountains. Prepare for a heartfelt reunion between Monsieur Bertrand and his loving wife,” Halphen said.
Bertrand whimpered.
“And to allow you to make the acquaintance of Maxime Bisset. You killed her little girl Solange yesterday. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to see you both. I suspect you know both Rosette and Maxime have become quite handy with a multitude of weapons.”
If the man driving the car so recklessly was the mystery man Petain had been pursuing, then who did he have imprisoned on board the train? Was it his subordinate, or his superior? More information was needed. “I was following orders,” Petain said. “The Germans are running things in France these days.”
“Save it. I’ve seen Reichsführer Himmler’s order. The French police were only to arrest Jewish adults. Not children or mothers with young children. You killed a four-year-old girl because you’re a monster. Don’t blame your cruelty on orders.”
“A casualty of war. Look, I can help you, all of you,” Petain said.
“How can you possibly help me?” Halphen asked.
“The families on the train, my men hold their documents. I can get them released.” Halphen turned and looked at him for a moment, then returned his eyes to the road. “I’m Chief of Police for the Pyrénées-Orientales Department. Camp Joffre resides within my jurisdiction. I can have them returned to the camp, then released.”
The man appeared as though he considered the offer.
“Perhaps you could steal another ship,” Petain said.
45
0610 hours, Sunday, August 16, 1942, Corgoloin, Côte-d'Or Department, Vichy France
Hiram approached the railway station near the center of town in Corgoloin. The station agent inside had access to a telephone. Hiram, dressed in Alphonse Benoit’s oversized suit, followed Petain into the two-story plasterwork building that served as both ticket booth and newsstand.
The pain in Hiram’s ankle had crawled up to his knee and settled with such intensity that Hiram doubted he’d have been able to catch the captain if he decided to run. He had managed to sneak a few painkillers in on the trip to the train station. As he fought to keep his composure, he’d have sworn the little white pills were nothing more than candy.
A single wooden bench sat against the building beneath a weathered awning. Hiram and Petain were the only visitors to the station this early on a Sunday morning. Garon Bertrand waited, gagged and shackled, in the trunk of Lebeau’s Citroën. Hiram’s right hand remained in his pocket holding a nine-millimeter pistol aimed at Petain’s back.
“I need to use your phone.” Petain flashed his badge at the station agent. The agent picked up the ancient device. He guided the cord and placed the contraption on the counter. He stood, watching Petain, waiting for him to make his call.
“Police business. Go have a smoke,” Petain said. The agent hesitated, looked at Hiram, then stepped out the back door of the station. Hiram listened as Petain made contact with the first two operators before connecting with his office in Perpignan. Hiram held the Babel Fish receiver near Petain’s right ear and set it to text mode. The C2ID2 translated the conversation, providing an onscreen view in Hebrew text. Hiram pressed the pistol into Petain’s ribs, a not-too-subtle reminder of his promise to end Petain’s life if he drifted from the script they had rehearsed in the car on the way to Corgoloin.
“Perpignan Station, Miss Brodeur speaking.”
“Rubi, you’re in early,” Petain said.
“Yes, sir. I thought with everything going on, it was best to get an early start.”
“Listen Rubi. The railway system is all messed up. I want you to issue orders to the Commandant at Camp Joffre in my name. He is to send thirty trucks to the railyard at Pont-Saint-Vincent to pick up the prisoners on the train. I’ll meet the convoy with my men. I’ve got plenty of men to provide sufficient coverage. We just need the trucks. Got that?”
“Yes, sir. Should I contact Sergeant DuBois and let him know what’s happening?”
Petain looked at Hiram.
Hiram shook his head. Sweat slipped into his eyes.
/> “No. I’ll take care of that myself. And Rubi, let’s try to keep this as quiet as possible, understand?”
“Yes, sir. Anything else?”
“No, that’s all. I’ll call you back later this afternoon. I’ll need an estimated time of arrival for the trucks.” Petain hung up without saying goodbye, then looked at Hiram.
“Let’s go.” Hiram followed Petain out the door. The station agent rushed back to his post as Hiram and Petain passed on the way back to the parking lot. A few minutes later, the Citroën pulled out of the lot, Petain behind the wheel. He’d find a secluded spot to shackle him up later. First, they needed to stop for petrol.
* * *
1100 hours, Sunday, August 16, Mamirolle, Doubs Department, Vichy France
The grey Citroën turned right off the main road south of Mamirolle and onto a dirt road headed into the hills, Hiram at the wheel. Bertrand had been allowed out of the trunk as the temperature climbed to 30℃ and now sat beside Petain in the back seat, both hooded. The road sloped upward through a pine forest and ended at the front door of an abandoned farmhouse. Fields overgrown with weeds surrounded the house. The French civilians that once lived here had fled during the initial German invasion. Many homes in the so-called Zone of German Settlement had been left behind. The Nazis prevented their return, intending to open the area up to settlement by ethnic Germans, but few Aryans opted to move west.
The C2ID2 message he sent to the women waiting in the abandoned farmhouse had been short with no more than a description of the car and his approximate arrival time. As he turned off the engine, Rosette stepped out of the farmhouse door with Leverette at her side.
Barbara and Charlotte emerged from the shadows at opposite corners of the barn, M22’s in hand. Maxime was nowhere in sight, and Teams Charlie and Delta had not yet arrived. Hiram opened the door of the car and began to climb out. As he stood, Deborah threw her arms around him and almost pushed him back into the driver’s seat. He clenched his teeth as he tried to steady himself on his good leg. She pulled away for a moment, but Hiram drew her back to him. He kissed her and pulled her in tight against him once more. Relief filled the gaping void that had been left in his chest since the mess in Saarbrücken.
The Maids of Chateau Vernet Page 20
