by Pirate Irwin
Broglie duly obliged, although he noticed Lafarge grimaced as he finally stood up and suggested he accompany him to the hospital. Lafarge said that would be nice but he didn’t think it would reveal any serious damage.
“Where’s Guillemot by the way? I would have thought he would have been interested in what was found in the house?” asked Lafarge.
Broglie smiled and shook his head.
“Guillemot and de Blaeckere were engaged in a colourful exchange of words when I left them, the one blaming the other for the disaster, which is an understatement for what happened here,” said Broglie, not looking unduly unhappy about how things had turned out, but Lafarge didn’t comment just in case he was being lured into a trap.
“And Caulennec?” he asked, although he didn’t particularly care one way or the other but felt it would seem odd if he didn’t ask.
“He didn’t make it. De Blaeckere said he took a bullet in the throat, his dear leader had his blood all over his piss–stained trousers as proof,” said Broglie not entirely sympathetically.
At that point Broglie’s search party – all of two men and not exactly the bloodhound looking types – returned from their search, shaking their heads and saying that they had got to the end of the tunnel. Apparently it led to a ladder which took them up to a manhole in a street several kilometers away and there was no sign of anyone.
Broglie looked at Lafarge, raised his eyebrows and bared his grimy teeth.
“Well, it’s not my mess, I will leave it to the others to explain their actions,” he said looking content with himself, although Lafarge thought rather too much so as inaction by him had perhaps cost de Blaeckere several men.
On that note, Lafarge picked up his gun which lay the other side of the doorway and he and Broglie, with the two men, walked back down the basement corridor and made their way out of the house, passing in the hallway the two people Lafarge had shot.
As he passed them he said a prayer to himself wishing that he could have disabled them without ending their lives.
As they emerged into the dusk which was starting to cover over the evidence of the shootout – although there were several emergency medical staff lifting bodies onto stretchers some zipped up totally, others with their faces exposed – Broglie turned to Lafarge.
“By the way, you didn’t see your man, did you?” he asked.
“No, after all that I didn’t. Quite a wasted and costly day, wouldn’t you say Broglie,” commented Lafarge laconically and wandered off towards the gateway feeling extremely happy at the way things had turned out.
*
The hospital visit had been as Lafarge had expected a mercifully short one. Even a cursory inspection by a rather harassed young doctor, who had far more seriously wounded patients to attend to, diagnosed there was no concussion and that a couple of headache pills and a good night’s rest should suffice.
Several of de Blaeckere’s men had been brought in while Lafarge had waited with Broglie. Three looked as if they would be fortunate to see the next dawn, while five others were due for longish convalescences. That should clip his wings a bit, thought Lafarge, who also found it strange that he wasn’t present at the hospital to greet his men.
Of Guillemot too there was no sign, which suggested that their colourful exchange, as Broglie had put it in his understated way, was still being played out.
Lafarge enquired after the woman whom he had ‘rescued’ from de Blaeckere’s torturers and was told that she was making progress and would make a full recovery. That would not be music to her ears mused Lafarge, a rare time when the words full recovery meant nothing better than a death sentence.
Still, there was nothing he could do for her now, and instead he felt like treating Broglie to a good bottle of wine as he was enjoying one of those days so rarely experienced during this ghastly dark period, one which he could look back on and say it had been a success.
He had managed to warn Gerland, who he suspected had in turn warned the people at the house, de Blaeckere’s men had taken a severe mauling, he had seen and talked to de Chastelain and he had emerged without the slightest suspicion cast on him.
There was also the date at the farm with Aimeé and her mysterious family to look forward to the next day. That had him feeling both excited and expectant like a young teenager but also wary of what he might uncover.
Of course, they too were fully aware he was a policeman and would no doubt try and behave as normally as possible so as not to alert him to any possible shenanigans they might be up to.
Lafarge sighed deeply at this last thought, for he didn’t really know what he would do were his suspicions about them proved to be correct.
Compromises there were aplenty in this war and in the situation the French in particular found themselves to be in, but sometimes one had to draw the line and the last thing Lafarge appreciated was being made a fool of.
“Hey Gaston, wakey wakey what about that bottle of wine you promised your savior!” said Broglie offering him one of his sadly unforgettable toothy smiles.
“Of course Broglie, where would I be if it wasn’t for you and your insatiable appetite for the best and most enjoyable things in life! Let’s go,” said Lafarge, affably throwing his arm round Broglie’s shoulders and striding to his colleague’s battered old car.
Both of them got a bit of a shock, though, when they entered the brasserie and found Guillemot propped up against the zinc bar. He did not look his usual suave and composed self, and although he greeted them warmly enough and said how glad he was Lafarge was alright, there was Lafarge saw in his eyes a sad look.
Lafarge told Broglie to take him outside to the terrasse while he ordered the bottle from Jean–Jacques, the owner, who was holding court with some local farmer types down at the other end of the bar.
Lafarge eventually gained his attention and ordered a fine bottle of red Burgundy and in the process of paying for it, Jean–Jacques plucked up his courage and informed him that Guillemot had told him he had been recalled to Paris over the incident.
“Has he indeed? That certainly explains his doleful look as it rounds off a truly dreadful day. Thanks for that Jean–Jacques,” said Lafarge with an appreciative smile.
Lafarge dutifully joined his colleagues plopping the bottle down on the table and filling their glasses. They allowed Guillemot time to drink some of it before tackling him about his being recalled and his argument with de Blaeckere, of whom there was still no sign.
It was only after the second glass that Guillemot felt relaxed enough to speak about the day’s events.
“I’ve got to return to Paris on the first train tomorrow,” he said grimly.
“I spoke with Bousquet and he was to say the least not happy at the way things had turned out. He may always look well turned out and chic but he has a vocabulary that would do one of those farners in there proud and a vicious streak to boot.
“De Blaeckere obviously didn’t help my cause by phoning him first, and alleging that it had all been a set up to get rid of him but thanks to the foolhardy bravery of his man, meaning Bousquet’s man and therefore you Gaston, that had been avoided.”
Wonders will never cease thought Lafarge, de Blaeckere praising him must have rankled with Bousquet, but he had been delivered Guillemot on a plate so he would suffice as a consolation prize.
“I see Guillemot, so instead of me being hauled back to Paris in disgrace it is to be you,” said Lafarge sympathetically.
“Yes that’s about it really. Although Bousquet consoled me by saying that it may only be temporary and that he felt sure there was a mole within, who had tipped off the terrorists. Indeed he said that wire taps out of our headquarters might lead us to him,” said Guillemot, his tone taking on a more optimistic lilt.
Lafarge and Broglie both grunted at this, Lafarge taking a large gulp of his wine to quell the fear he suddenly felt rising in his gut. However, he calmed himself down by reasoning that his conversation with Gerland could for the large part be
explained innocently enough.
However, it hung on whether Bousquet would miss the reference to the newly–arrived friend, if he didn’t, then there would be serious questions posed to both him and Gerland.
He thought he could withstand the questioning but Gerland was another matter.
A man who was accustomed to living comfortably and being able to avail himself of the best things in life might not be the most resilient of suspects under possible threat of torture.
“These wire taps, are they the real reason you are returning to Paris?” asked Broglie.
Lafarge looked at Guillemot for his reaction, and noticed he looked over their shoulders as he replied, a sign that Broglie had arrowed in on the essence of his recall.
“That is certainly one of the matters up for discussion in the review of the terrible events today. Obviously also there is my role to be looked into, I mean my intelligence or rather my unreliable insider has led to the deaths of nine men and eight wounded and without the slightest sniff of any interesting information having been secured,” said Guillemot sadly.
“So while I can hope that it was a result of a mole within our ranks I also have to prepare myself for the possibility of being assigned to other duties which may lead to a safer and gentler pace of life, but will bore me to tears.”
Broglie and Lafarge nodded sympathetically, but they were both equally keen to discover why Guillemot hadn’t altered his plans once he realized they had been caught in an ambush. Rather than letting the discussion become a blame game should Broglie ask the question, Lafarge put it to Guillemot.
Guillemot sucked in his cheeks and held them there for a matter of seconds.
“I am or at least I thought I was a master of accruing intelligence and then devising a plan to intervene and ruin the actions of those trying to put theirs into place,” he said.
“However, I am no military man and once the trap was sprung on us today I admit I became paralysed, for I had no alternative strategy to put in place, I am sorry for the men who lost their lives, I am only glad it didn’t cost you two yours.
“I think next time I will restrict myself to barracks. As for you Broglie you have nothing to reproach yourself over your inaction, for there would only have been more bloodshed. We can’t all be nerveless devil may care types like Gaston,” he added smiling.
Broglie grunted and disappeared inside, Lafarge could see that he was ordering another bottle of wine. He hoped it would be the same one for it was doing wonders for his sore head, and took the opportunity to try and get some more information out of Guillemot.
“Aside from de Blaeckere’s surprise praise for me, did Bousquet have anything else to say about me?” he asked.
“Yes, he said that he would much appreciate an overdue call from you for an update. He also wondered whether de Chastelain had been seen at the house either by my informant or by you,” said Guillemot.
“Obviously there is no point in me seeking any evidence from my informant for the moment as he is plainly unreliable and so I leave that to you to fill in our leader. He sounded rather more interested in you than the overall turn of events truth be told. I would say that there was a glacial tone to his voice when he talked about you despite de Blaeckere’s favourable comments.
“I venture that if you don’t come up with anything soon that you too will be on your way back and to a job of similar interest to the one I may be allotted. He also all but implied that if there was a mole that it would be you, as your loyalties despite your father and sister’s faithful adherence to Vichy are questionable.
“I of course defended you. But my word counts little at the moment and de Blaeckere’s gratitude will dissipate all too quickly once he gets wind that there is a suspicion on Bousquet’s part that you might have been the one who betrayed us.”
All the confidence that Lafarge had been feeling after the initial discourse had rapidly evaporated as he heard the fuller debrief of Bousquet and Guillemot’s conversation. His fear over his phone conversation with Gerland coming to light and what could be read into it returned.
Thankfully Broglie had also returned armed with the bottle, and it was indeed the same one, so Lafarge quaffed the remainder of his old glass and poured himself another one.
He knew from experience that too much drink, while it would settle his nerves now, would only make them worse on awaking in the morning but for now, he saw no other option of quelling them.
All he knew was that his finely–hatched plan with de Chastelain would have to come to fruition soon and be trouble free for him to allay doubts over his loyalty, especially if Bousquet was to interpret his conversation with Gerland in the way he wished to.
Should he do so, then it would mean Lafarge would not be joining Guillemot at some menial clerk like job but be delivered into the hands of the Special Brigades in Paris and that would mean only one ending for him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Ah Lafarge, how kind of you to spare me some of your valuable time by ringing me,” said Bousquet, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Lafarge thought “go fuck yourself”, but restrained himself. He had even hesitated whether to call the odious man but thought better of it, as he felt with himself already under suspicion, there was no need to exacerbate the situation by making him think he was avoiding him totally.
He could have refused to, for which he would have been justified in doing so as Bousquet was still a suspect in his case.
However, three strong cups of black coffee had persuaded him otherwise and besides, he wanted to go to the farm house free of having to fret over what Bousquet might do at another affront from his least favourite and least pliable detective.
“It’s my pleasure secretary–general. I am sorry to have kept you waiting,” said Lafarge with an equal dose of sarcasm.
Lafarge could hear the displeasure this had provoked down the line and pressed on before he received a telling off.
“There’s nothing really to report to you apart from I have set the wheels in motion to trap our suspect and bring him back to Paris. I would prefer not to go into the minutiae of the details as others may be listening in,” said Lafarge pointedly.
“How soon do you think these wheels will start spinning in our direction, Lafarge? It would be a shame should there be a derailment or a puncture like there was yesterday,” said Bousquet coolly.
“I would say in the next couple of days, sir,” replied Lafarge, plucking a figure out of the air and then swearing at himself for doing so.
“I see. That is rather optimistic isn’t it? I mean as far as I have been told since you have been down there, you have upset the Brigade Spéciale's commander and aside from that spent most of the rest of your time drinking and whoring,” said Bousquet brutally.
That sent Lafarge into a towering rage, and he fought to combat it.
“No, it is not an optimistic forecast sir. Furthermore I would strongly protest at that summary of my activities down here. Yesterday’s actions by myself, totally on my own behest, saved what was left of that riff raff bunch of hoodlums and clowns,” said Lafarge forcefully.
Lafarge could hear the deep sigh at the other end of the line and awaited the full force of Bousquet’s ire.
“I would ask you to temper your language Lafarge, we are not in some school playground,” hissed Bousquet. “I would remind you that the riff raff, as you arrogantly describe them, lost a great deal of men in doing their duty in attempting to bring terrorists to justice. They are the riff raff, Lafarge, those who are trying to undo all the good that we along with the National Socialists are doing to France, in repairing the damage done under the Third Republic,” added Bousquet, his tone assuming a level of self justification that made Lafarge want to throw up at.
The hypocrisy of the man knew no bounds thought Lafarge, for he had willingly accepted to be prefect of a region under the very same Third Republic he was now decrying. Oh well, so be it, just keep calm, Lafarge, he told himself.
; “Well, forgive me for using such intemperate language sir but I don’t like my character being impugned either,” said Lafarge hotly.
“Hmm well, there will be time enough for that later anyway. Let’s try and get back onto the main business, shall we? For which your future depends on aside from any other difficulties that may crop up,” said Bousquet, not bothering to hide the menace within the phrase.
Lafarge shrugged that aside and did as he was told by returning to the pursuit of de Chastelain.
“I can promise you sir that you will have de Chastelain on a train with me back to Paris in the next three days,” said Lafarge.
“Good, well if you keep to that schedule then that will be satisfactory. The sooner this business is wrapped up, the better it will be for all parties concerned.
“Now if you do have him with you, I suggest you do not contact me until you are back in Paris, that way no–one can bugger up things again. Also I have a very busy schedule over the next three days, with high matters of state, and not even great personal business such as de Chastelain can take priority over them,” said Bousquet pompously.
“What does that mean, you are not going to greet me with a bunch of flowers and a bottle of champagne then?” asked Lafarge.
“Cut the sarcasm, Lafarge. I am involved with something that will only bring even more harmony between France and Germany and be a story told proudly by all French people in the decades to come.
“It will set an example to those future generations and to other countries who are undecided about which way they should go on such matters,” said Bousquet, his tone assuming such a level of conceitedness that Lafarge whilst wanting to put the receiver down was also intrigued by what this great event might be.
“Well sir, I can’t wait to return to Paris to see what this example to all is,” said Lafarge.
“For once I believe you. Now go about your business and get me de Chastelain,” said Bousquet abruptly and put the phone down.
