“I imply nothing, madame, merely state the obvious. The owner of record passed away a short while back. Now your mother-in-law up and dies in the same house within months. I come over to find the place untended, the animals on the run.” He pointed at Leo with the stem of his pipe, “and the boy there was missing. You’ll understand the official concern.”
Erika was unappeased. “So you tear up the flower garden?” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “Searching for more bodies, perhaps?”
“Making room for more livestock, madame.” He released a stream of smoke. The figure in the shadows of the living room remained a silhouette. “This property is now fully in my care.”
She dropped the suitcase at her feet and took an angry step toward him. “We asked you to keep an eye on it, not turn it upside-down.”
“Where’s my cat?” Leo glared at the man. “Where’s Musette.”
The man laughed at the distraction. “Take a look at the barn, kid. Usually down there.”
Leo looked to Erika, who nodded approval. “Keep close.” She straightened his jacket collar while whispering in German. “Danger! Hide close-by until I call you.” She watched Leo head down the path lined with upturned earth, then turned back to LeBlanc. “So this is how you care for another’s property?”
“That’s just it, madame—I’m afraid the farm doesn’t belong to you. It’s now the property of the local authority based on an abandonment claim. The village authorities found it sensible to put me in charge until further notice, since my properties adjoin this one. Farm production is in too short supply to have these fields sitting idle.”
Erika couldn’t hide her contempt. “And, as I recall, the ‘authority’ in such matters is a relative of yours?”
The man laughed again, a good-natured card player caught cheating at the neighborhood tavern. He beckoned toward the house with a wave of his hand and the local constable emerged into the sunlight. Erika had only met the man once and taken an instant dislike to the lawman’s supercilious grin. “Madame, allow me to reacquaint you with my brother-in-law, Constable Graves.”
The official stepped down off the porch. “Madame,” he touched the brim of his cap, “I’m afraid I must detain you here. I have orders to hold you for interrogation.”
The situation was clear. She had stumbled upon the last vestige of Horst’s widespread manhunt. If unchecked, it could mean her incarceration and, far worse, the loss of her children. Options limited, she assumed an accepting calm. “Very well, sir. I’ve nothing to hide. But I must get my little girl out of the sun. May we all go inside?”
“Be my guest.” The constable made a gentlemanly gesture toward the open door. Erika spotted Leo crouching low beside the rear bumper of the nearly hidden truck, awaiting her signal. She casually put a finger to her lips as she entered the farmhouse. The men followed closely behind. Setting Sophie down on Leo’s old cot, she turned to her captors. “My daughter needs a change of diaper. Would one of you gentlemen bring in my valise?”
She looked to LeBlanc and the farmer agreed with a nod. “Of course, madame.” He went out into the sun, the screen door slamming in his wake, leaving her alone with the constable. She removed the soiled diaper, the rank odor pervading the small living room. Sophie giggled in relief and kicked her naked legs in the air. “Good!” she said. “Good!” The constable stepped to the open window, seeking escape from the sight and smell of the child’s dirty bottom.
In one quick move Erika dropped him with her blackjack. He exhaled as he hit the planks. She gave another blow as added insurance before positioning herself behind the open door. Moments later LeBlanc stepped back in. He came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the little girl on the daybed, now freed of her diaper and lying unattended. The cudgel dropped him, first to his knees, then the ground. She grabbed the suitcase and threw it on the cot beside Sophie.
Erika called for Leo and quickly diapered the child. His footsteps pounded across the wooden porch and he ran inside. The sight of the downed men brought a smile to his face. “You’ve done it again, Maman!”
She put Sophie on her hip. “The suitcase, Leo! Close it and we’re out of here!”
They hurried to the main road, slowed only by Leo’s difficulties with the heavy valise. Erika had her arms full with Sophie hanging on her neck and protesting the sudden departure. She waved to the waiting taxi driver. Crunching the vehicle into gear, he rumbled down to pick them up, then made a U-turn and put the accelerator to the floor. “Where now, madame?”
“Farther north. And thank you.” He smiled before turning his concentration to the curving road ahead. “And will we be followed, madame?”
“I suspect so, monsieur. There was a truck and quite possibly an auto, as well, though I can’t be certain of that.”
Leo piped in, “Oh yes, Maman, an automobile, too. But don’t worry about those.” He settled back with a smug expression. “I took care of everything.”
Turning her attention from the rear window, she gave him a curious look. “What do you mean, Leo?”
He offered an impish grin. “Uncle Rénard taught me how.”
“How to do what?”
He bent closer to her, throwing a quick glance at the cabdriver, who appeared to concentrate on his one-armed shifting. “It’s actually very simple. You put stuff in the fuel tanks—you know, sand, dirt, whatever’s handy. Uncle says they can try to follow you but won’t get very far!”
Erika was less than convinced. “Will that really be enough to stop them?”
“Don’t worry, Maman. I also let air out of the tires.” He laughed. “Those men will be pretty mad when they wake up.”
She couldn’t resist another look back. The road remained clear and she hugged her son to her. “You’re as clever as your father,” she said, but thought “fathers.”
“I know.” Leo sat back in the seat. “And Maman?”
“Yes, love?”
“Musette was at the truck and she’s nice and fat, so she must be finding lots of mice.”
The driver chuckled as the taxi slowed to a more reasonable pace. They rolled to a stop where the road forked. “So, where’s it to be, madame?”
Leo settled down to teaching Sophie the names of objects and animals spotted from the taxi, then confusing her by giving the German equivalent. The young driver agreed to a substantial sum for driving as far as the Demarcation Line. Fuel was scarce, but a gold bracelet with tiny emeralds convinced the proprietor of a crossroads service station to fill their tank, despite her lack of ration cards. He would surely find a way to short his next customer.
Doubts plagued her every thought. Why didn’t Dr. Ballineux answer his phone? How else to reach René? She had tried calling the previous evening and several times from the bus depot that morning. Still nothing. What if René tried to contact her by way of that traitorous LeBlanc. The man would surely draw him into a trap in Gascony. Her only solution now was to track down René, and quickly.
As the hours passed, she considered who she’d once hoped to become. She explored paths taken, mistakes made. The endless questioning of her motives and decisions soon left her devastated. When young, her desire for high society and adventure had shaped her direction, and how much suffering that naïveté had brought to those around her! Both parents had paid with their lives. She’d exposed Leo to violence and fear, and all her loved ones to incredible risk. But worst of all, she’d failed to save millions of suffering innocents. The theft of Horst’s horrifying protocol had come to nothing. She fought back tears of self-recrimination. This ache was too great a distraction, itself a threat to these priceless children and the loving man relying on her in the face of adversity. And if that weren’t enough, an unexpected and troubling development was now on the horizon.
“What’s wrong, Maman?” Leo’s worry reflected the distress in his mother’s eyes. Sophie began to sob in commiseration. Leo sidled closer to his mother. “Please don’t cry!”
“It’s nothing, my darlings, nothing at al
l.” She blew her nose and hugged the children closer. “I miss Uncle René so much. So now we’re going to head home to be with him, all right?”
Leo assumed his favorite role and comforted Sophie, drawing her attention to spotted cows in a pasture beyond a passing fence. He looked over at his mother and whispered: “I’m helping you, right Maman?”
Home. Such a curious word. She’d had so many since Marburg, each temporary, each fraught with danger and abandoned under threat of death and cover of night. Would she ever find a sanctuary free of upheaval and cruelty? They had often spoken of crossing into Spain to seek a calmer life, but to go it alone now would mean accepting the possibility of never again reuniting.
No, her decision was final. She’d had enough separation in the last days to fill a lifetime, enough incessant worry about René’s safety and their own. Her husband was mentally sharp but trusted too willingly. She would track him down in Nantes or Saint-Nazaire. They would attack the U-boat pens before moving on to more stable ground. Then René would continue to fight the Nazis, seeking vengeance for having surrendered his Rhine birthright to bastards like Horst.
Yes, René was set in his role, but she was changing from fighter to mother. Wasn’t tending the children and teaching them right from wrong equally important as fighting evil with a blackjack or pistol? She was tired of fleeing, of the struggle, exhausted by the prospect of shielding Leo and now Sophie from the dangers ahead in such a tormented world.
Leo—such a devilishly complicated boy, and so determined to be her protector. No wonder, given what he had witnessed, all he’d overcome on his own. Leo was strong, a survivor. His was the precocious mind of Ryan tempered by the same down-to-earth determination of René. Leo would prosper. How she loved the boy!
And Sophie, with those dark curls and blue eyes, was quickly winning her heart. The little girl who had lost so much had a bright mind. She adored her new brother and gleefully mimicked him, even when clearly wondering what he was up to. But the child was also quick to voice her dissatisfaction in the loudest of terms. Strong-willed, as had been her mother. That trait might benefit her in a world turned upside-down by war and deprivation, but soon she would need potty-training and become even more demanding. She would need some semblance of a stable home.
It was up to Erika to make sense of this little family, and she willed herself to be strong once more. As long as Horst lived, René and Ryan remained at risk. Vigilance on her part was vital, and she wouldn’t let them down. Only in protecting those she loved could she atone for the damage and hurt already done, for all the suffering.
The fault truly lay with her. Once, in a moment of indecision, she had held in her hands that morphine syringe and chosen not to put a definitive end to Horst’s cruelties. They all paid a price for that moment of compassion. They would do so until someone, somehow, sent that brutal monster to his death.
This time for good!
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Paris, Occupied France
2 September 1941
The sergeant’s well-cut uniform suited his luxurious post. He sat ramrod straight behind an ornate walnut desk and screened visitors to the Occupation’s administrative offices in the Hotel de Crillon. Many of the grand hotels now did similar duty throughout the city. The non-com held court behind a leather-bound appointment book embossed with a bold black swastika. To his right stood an equally impressive soldier at parade rest. Ed’s three-piece suit and burgundy tie had seemed suitable enough for any diplomatic purpose that morning, but now his tweeds appeared rumpled and déclassé amidst such military finery.
The sergeant greeted him respectfully in French. “The purpose of your visit, sir?”
Ed slid a calling card across the polished surface and replied in American-accented German. “Edward Lemmon, United States Department of State, here to see Herr Richard Kohl.”
The non-com switched to English, his tone a bit less cordial. “You have an appointment, Mr. Lemmon?”
While America remained ostensibly neutral, many in the Reich recognized the lay of the land. This soldier had quickly assumed a combative stance more suited to addressing a future adversary, and Ed knew better than most that “neutrality” was on borrowed time. Congress already provided materiel and moral support to the Allies under the Lend-Lease program, and the shift was obvious at high governmental levels despite the Charles Lindberghs, Ham Fishes and Rush Holts who campaigned ceaselessly for isolationism back home.
“Yes, Herr Kohl set this appointment himself,” Ed consulted the mahogany clock on the wall. “I’m now running late. Can we hurry this along?”
The sergeant opened his log book and ran a finger to the appropriate entry. “Yes, here you are—room 233.” He nodded to one of the enlisted men crowding a satin-covered bench across the vestibule. By the time a soldier appeared at Ed’s side to lead him away, the sergeant had already beckoned to the next visitor in line, greeting him respectfully in French.
The enlisted man stepped off smartly with a “Please follow me, sir” and guided Ed to the lifts. Outside 233 the soldier knocked and stepped aside to allow Ed to enter. Kohl rose from his chair and shook his former subordinate’s hand. He gestured to one of the upholstered chairs facing the broad desk. Kohl’s supercilious grin was as annoying as ever as he adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses and made a notation before looking up. “So, Edward, once again we find ourselves working toward a common goal.”
Ed held himself in check. “Repatriating foreign nationals may be beneficial for both countries, but our personal goals remain far apart.” Ed ached for a smoke but refused any distraction, his curiosity too strong. “You requested a private meeting so let’s get on with it, Kohl.”
“Years of cooperation and fellowship and we’re no longer on a first-name basis, Ed?”
“We both now know your true loyalties, Kohl.” Ed abruptly leaned forward, his tone cold and measured. “So let’s not pretend things are any different than they are. You have revealed yourself as a traitor and are thoroughly despicable. You and von Kredow have undermined American interests and plotted to kill my brother.” Ed glared, his knuckles white. “So let’s put all cards on the table, shall we? You’re a double-dealing, homicidal bastard, and you think me a weakling unworthy of licking your fascist boots. All well and good. The only reason I’m here is the SWPD requirement that I deal with you, so get to it.”
Taken aback by Ed’s spurt of venom, Kohl leaned back and shifted papers until he had regained his composure. “So how is the ever-saintly Ryan doing?” Using his necktie, Kohl carefully rubbed fingerprints from his lenses. “Word is he met a bit of trouble with some partisans over in Nantes. Pity—the man’s never been a great judge of character.” He set the eyeglasses back on the bridge of his nose, “Or shown any real understanding of global politics, actually. Really, Edward, no one seriously buys his assignment to Special War Problems.”
Ed held his gaze.
“No, our boy Ryan’s now one of Donovan’s do-gooders, out to save the world from the Reich.” Kohl swiveled away from the fuming Edward, turning his attention to the view beyond his tall window. “Oh, yes, my friend, we have Ryan’s number down, and spies are always fair game, not like diplomats, right? You’d both do well to note his days are numbered here in beautiful France.” Kohl put his feet up on the sill. “Or anywhere else, for that matter.”
Ed steadied his voice. “Again, show me a purpose for this meeting or I leave now.” The temptation to throttle Kohl was growing, but he’d recognized in that smug grin someone hiding a matter of mutual interest. He dared not risk losing the opportunity.
“Ah, but I believe I’ve just made the reason clear. Our association goes way back, and despite my seemingly abrupt change in political allegiance, you both still hold a warm place in my heart. So how about some friendly advice from your old boss at State?” Kohl braced his hands behind his head, staring across the Rue Boissy d'Anglas at two pigeons strutting along a stone cornice.
Certain that Kohl
was considering what a fine meal of pigeon rôti they would make, Ed felt he was in Kohl’s sights, as well. “It’s your move, Kohl.”
“For old time’s sake I’m doing both of you a service, so be grateful, Ed. You can let our beloved Ryan know the Gestapo is on to him. I admit my late colleague von Kredow was a bit zealous at times and things haven’t been easy for Ryan, so the least I can do now is give him a heads-up.”
Kohl abruptly swiveled back and placed both hands on the desktop. “And while you’re at it, tell him it’s time to forget that woman and child he was so obviously fond of. An unfortunate personal loss, I’m sure, but they’re both out of the picture now.” He casually spat a hangnail toward the waste basket. “One less distraction for a spy, right?”
Ed felt the hairs on his neck rise. “Out of what picture?”
Kohl’s smile broadened. “But of course, there’s no way you could know that, is there?”
“Know what?” Ed tensed. “What about Erika and Leo?”
“So sorry, my friend, but some partisan business down in Bayonne, a real Wild-West shoot-em-up, I’m told. The woman and child came out the losers.” Kohl gave a self-satisfied smirk. “A mother ought never involve herself with terrorists, right?”
Ed sat back, stunned. “That’s a damned lie!” Residual evil from that bastard von Kredow, of course. “Who could possibly wish an innocent mother and child dead?”
Kohl feigned surprise. “Innocent, you say? Well, we’ll save that for future discussion, but I can assure you that both bodies were cremated, leaving their deaths beyond dispute. I hear there remains physical evidence, as well. I understand how difficult this must be for you, having to share such tragic news with your brother. Please give Ryan my sincere condolences. I’m aware of the special bond he shared with that woman.” Kohl rose abruptly from the desk and walked to the door. “But now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more important matters to attend to. Just let Ryan know he’s being watched.”
Fulcrum of Malice Page 15
