No light escaped the drapes covering windows to either side of the entry. Only a wisp of smoke rose from one of the chimneys. He looked up and down the street, even more worried. He searched the door jamb for something brighter than the fading wood trim and found a scrap of paper jutting out a hair’s breadth, placed so high that only a tall man would spot it, and then only if he knew to look. With the note in his pocket he took to the streets again. The yapping dogs were closer. Flashlights swept the pavement at the head of the rue.
The moon reflected off the Loire as he made the descent toward the river. He passed a narrow gap between two houses. Balling up the sweater, he heaved it deep into the confined space. The dogs might be misled and stop to bay into the recess. With luck he would find a place to read Erika’s note. It would lead him to her.
Hugging the shadow of the walls as the street curved downward, René felt his energies flagging. He spotted a kerosene lantern swinging in the breeze off the water, glowing softly in the deepening fog. There the street opened to a small square bordered by nautical shops and taverns. A boardwalk branched off in both directions.
Squatting beneath the lantern, he held the note to the feeble light. In Erika’s script a hastily-scrawled riddle challenged him: Ein Mädchen in rotem Kleid, da wo Du als Junge zu Hause warst.
The baying had risen to a fevered pitch. The dogs knew they had their prey cornered. The shouts of the men and the anxious howling of the animals echoed from up the street. He hunkered down beside a street sweeper’s cart as a police car crossed the square , its siren blaring as it headed up toward the pursuers. The sweater had worked, at least for the moment.
A girl in a red dress, where you were at home in your youth.
Her clue bounced around in his head. At least the second part was clear—the only place he’d felt at home as a boy was aboard his father’s Rhine boats. The girl in the puzzle he’d solve on the run, but he knew he was almost there.
Kapitänleutnant Thomas Steiner drummed his fingers on the desk. The commandant’s eyes shifted repeatedly to the bunker plan on the wall, although it no longer demanded immediate attention. He checked his watch. Almost four a.m. He had learned of the partisan attack over an hour in advance and quickly taken appropriate countermeasures, but still his nerves were frayed. Little had gone as smoothly as hoped, and now all traces of this embarrassing fiasco would have to be buried.
Crediting his security plan for thwarting the sabotage would have been the easy answer, but chance alone had brought them down. Hoping to impress a local girl with details of his soon-to-be-tested courage, one young saboteur had revealed too much. That young Frenchwoman was also seeing a German submariner on the sly. Fearing for her lover’s safety, she’d sent a warning and the sailor had dutifully reported the partisan plans to his superiors.
Thank God for small favors, thought Steiner.
He faced the door as Dauerheim entered with the latest report. “We believe most of the terrorists are accounted for, sir. It was just as expected: planned diversionary explosions on the lock, an armed assault on the front entry and a waterborne attack targeting the U-boats. Our men interceded on three fronts.”
“How much damage if they’d succeeded?”
“They carried far too little explosive to seriously damage either the lock caisson or any of our boats.” He took a seat as directed. “Amateurs, sir, not demolition experts. We defused the explosives on the South Lock once the sappers left to join the frontal assault. Our men wiped out that entire team at the front gate.”
“No survivors?”
Dauerheim shrugged. “Our men had to defend themselves. The bastards didn’t have a prayer.”
“Casualties on our side?”
“Two, sir. Minor flesh wounds. One clumsy fellow tripped and sprained an ankle. The partisans were poorly armed so no match for a Schmeisser.”
“What of the skiff?”
“Five showed up there, sir. Three dead. We’ve laid out the bodies inside the compound, pending your inspection and further orders.”
“Any Wehrmacht involvement yet? Or Gestapo?”
“None, sir. All is under wraps for now. The flak troops and local army command were forewarned of an anticipated training exercise and nothing more. The story appears to be holding, though Old Town will certainly suspect the truth. And, of course, families of the dead. People always talk.”
“And our ‘visitors from Paris?’ Those two are the key. Any signs of the leaders?”
“Yes and no, sir. Sailors sharing a bottle missed the evening transport back to La Baule. They met the imposters on the way out, fell for the uniform ruse, then opted to keep their soused heads down by hiding in the guard room. They report the two ‘naval officers’ headed back out to the bunkers.”
“Your search inside was thorough?”
“Per your orders. Quite frankly, those two have disappeared.”
“Well, those were no phantoms, although I wish to hell they had been! Any missing rowboats, launches, fishing vessels, anything of that sort?”
“None, sir.”
“Then perhaps they both drowned but I have my doubts. They likely slipped away before we went looking.” The commander removed his greatcoat from the rack. “Come, Gregor—walk with me.” He grabbed his lighter and a pack of Aristons off the desk, pulled on leather gloves, and waited for Dauerheim to open the door to the street. It felt good leaving the dank office for the fresh night air.
On the stoop he adjusted his cap. The usual early-morning fog had enveloped Old Town, bringing with it the cold. A dense marine layer dampened the stone paving and turned it slick. Only those with permission to break curfew stirred in that pre-dawn hour.
Steiner offered his lieutenant one of the cigarettes and the men stopped long enough to share a light. At the compound they joined the squad of naval police smoking silently with their backs to the massive concrete wall. Dauerheim led the commandant over to the perimeter fencing where the bloodied corpses lay in a neat row. “Those British uniforms appear genuine enough—likely abandoned during last year’s rout—but our men checked the undergarments. They’re all locals for sure.”
Steiner squatted beside the first body, turning the dead man’s face toward the light. The eyes saw nothing, the corneas dulling now, and Steiner felt a twinge. Regret? Sorrow? Disgust? He wasn’t sure. Experiencing the casualties of war close-up was so immediate. How different from watching an enemy destroyer or freighter sink beneath the waves. His eyes moved from body to body, some eyes closed, others staring sightlessly into the fog. “All ages, it seems. Courageous fools, but fools all the same. Papers?”
“None. But our young lover boy is filling in details, so it shouldn’t be difficult putting identities to all these faces.”
“Our loose-lipped partisan was at the skiff?”
“Surrendered immediately. If their leader hadn’t fired, they all might have lived. The others carried nothing but knives and explosives, but our men dropped them when they made a run for it. The only other survivor took two rounds in the back and won’t last. We’re doing our best to keep him alive, just in case we need to corroborate details. By the way, our enamored informant still knows nothing of his girlfriend’s attachment to the submariner. His fears for her safety give us excellent leverage.”
“Let’s keep it that way. We may have further use for her. Meanwhile, get these bodies inside before the locals spot them.”
“I’m afraid that ship has sailed, sir. Two young fellows had a quick look from outside the compound before disappearing into the fog. We couldn’t stop them.”
Steiner said nothing. His gaze moved along the towering wall toward the construction zone. What the hell was he doing here on land when he could accomplish so much more at sea? Out there, command meant true command, with only himself to please. Now this incident might well torpedo any chance for a more active role in the war. He rose to his feet and pulled his coat tighter, then fished the cigarette pack from his pocket. Dauerheim returned almos
t immediately after relaying the orders. They left the compound just as a wheeled trolley came around to cart away the stiffening bodies.
They walked back in silence. Steiner lost himself in contemplation, poring over ways to make the best of a very bad situation. Entering the headquarters building he had the night duty non-com set a water pot on the hotplate. Once at his desk, Steiner became all business. “Listen, Gregor, shut that door and have a seat. What I’m about to say must remain confidential.”
“Of course, sir.” Dauerheim’s smile showed how delighted he was with his superior’s confidence in his discretion.
Steiner removed his cap and slicked his hair into place, checking his reflection in a framed citation hanging on the wall. “As you well know, nothing would give me greater pleasure than commanding a new VII-class.” His eyes followed the sleek lines of the scale model on his desk. “But since Berlin sees fit to keep me land-bound, I do my best to meet their expectations.” He brought the model U-boat closer, lifting it from the stand to sight along the sleek body, imagining torpedoes bursting from its tubes. “Sadly, this evening’s wrinkle, and in hindsight our two ‘official’ visitors from yesterday, reveal a serious breakdown in our security measures. We can expect trouble from Command West.”
“But sir, they presented solid credentials. Why should you have suspected them? Our captive says those two are experienced outsiders—one from Nantes, the other an SOE operative from up north now leading a local group.”
“The fact remains, they duped me. You must know that Paris—not to mention Berlin—has little tolerance for gullible commandants.” His fingers tapped a steady tattoo on the desktop until he forced them to stop. “We’ve become so accustomed to Paris hovering over our shoulders that a surprise visit seemed plausible enough, especially after those plans turned up in that Nantes warehouse. Perhaps I should have given the visit of those Gestapo louts more weight. But Command’s focus is shifting quickly to the Atlantic war, security remains paramount, so I understand the concerns and I’ve dropped the ball on this one.”
“Sir, it could happen to anyone!”
“Perhaps, but it happened under my watch, and now it’s on me to make the situation go away.”
The lieutenant spoke candidly: “We squelched this so quickly that very few even know of it. The local officials will believe what we tell them to believe. The last thing they’ll want are reprisals against the citizenry.” He hesitated, as if wary of his next thought. “But obviously, once the families get the bodies back the whole town will know otherwise.”
Steiner was in no mood for mincing of words. “So spit it out, Gregor.”
“The Todt people are still working around the clock.”
“How’s that germane? Were there witnesses among the night crew?”
“We’d ordered them off-site just before the action. The foreman and engineer bitched about timetables, but all followed orders so they saw nothing.” Dauerheim clearly waited for a response which failed to come. Finally, a grin on his face, he offered a prompt: “I believe the skirmish interrupted them mid-pour on one of the final roof sections.”
“Your point being?”
“Hear me out, sir. What if those bodies disappeared during that huge concrete pour? The only witnesses then would be a couple of Polish laborers reassigned immediately to a project elsewhere—let’s say down in Bordeaux.”
Steiner leaned back in his chair. In truth, the idea had also occurred to him but he’d refused to give it serious consideration.
Convinced his plan had merit, Dauerheim forged on: “Just imagine—we bury the fallen partisans in the bunker itself, a lasting tribute to their misguided plan to challenge the Reich. It’s respectful, even if we’re the only ones to ever know it.”
The commandant turned the idea over in his mind. How easy that would be, bodies gone forever, the locals intimidated into silence. His own people would never break the story, and well-placed threats of retribution would easily squelch civilian rumors. But simple solutions often had unforeseen consequences. What of the young man singing his guts out to protect a girl with conflicting loyalties? And those ringleaders, the fake naval officers still on the loose?
He approached the town plan hanging on the wall, his eyes drawn to the massive complex at its center. Had this command, this power, affected his sense of right and wrong? Was he willing to do anything necessary to cover his own shortcomings? No, these partisans had lost their lives for their beliefs. Terrorists, yes, yet still men of conviction, misguided or not, and they deserved better than that. And their families deserved to know their men died bravely.
Without honor in what we do, where is the purpose and justification for our actions? He thought of Maria and his two young ones back in Kiel. Of his father, a captain who went down at the helm of his destroyer in the Great War. Steiner would hope to instill that same sense of duty and integrity in this young lieutenant waiting impatiently for a response to a bold suggestion. Perhaps he would find a principled way to save his career, but he would never compromise the ethics of a sea captain.
A knock at the door. The non-com entered with a tray, set the coffee pot and two cups on the desk, then hesitated. Dauerheim was in no mood for interruptions. “What is it, sergeant?”
“Sir, a matter of possible interest just in from a local night patrol.” He handed over a slip of paper and withdrew, gently closing the door behind him as the lieutenant scanned the message.
Seeing a shift in Dauerheim’s features, the commandant became impatient: “Come on, spill it!”
“About 01:00 hours a foot patrol spotted two men breaking curfew. Over in that mixed-use area west of the rail yards. Both refused to stop and identify themselves and made a run for it, so the patrol took a few shots and gave pursuit.”
“Anyone hit?”
“No signs of it, sir.”
“And?”
“One disappeared immediately in the direction of New Town. The other headed north. A dog patrol joined the pursuit and the fugitive gave them a run for it. It’s quite a rabbit warren up there with streets switching back every which way. And the fog wasn’t even in yet. Anyway, they tracked him down to the fisherman’s quarter, but he gave them the slip all the same.”
Steiner shook his head. “Even with the dogs?”
“Even with dogs.”
“And this interests us why?”
Dauerheim looked up from the incident report, a gleam in his eye. “The man was big and ran with a limp.”
Steiner released a long, slow breath. “Ah, I see…our ‘Kapitän zur See Greifinger,’ perhaps? And the other one surely the purported SOE fellow, likely now well through New Town and long gone. Have we a follow-up on him?”
“Not a sign yet, sir.”
“All right, here’s what we do: double the road blocks and controls between here and all towns to the west and north. And search the fisherman’s quarter high and low, every house, every shop, every damned boat! Have the interrogator find out if any of the terrorists had connections to the fishing fleet.”
Steiner saw the slim possibility of something positive coming from this disastrous night. “Go on, Gregor, get on it now. This might be the break we need. Should we snag either of the ringleaders, I just might save my command as well as my neck.”
Dauerheim was already out the door.
Erika’s cryptic note would have kept anyone else guessing, but René immediately caught the nautical allusion. Only he would know to look for a boat of some kind. He searched south first, considering any number of bobbing vessels. Nothing suggested a girl in red. He retraced his steps to the square. Heading north, he finally spotted La Demoiselle, half-hidden in the encroaching fog and rocking gently in her faded rust-red livery. He crossed the gangway to the deck, then stopped to scan the pier for any activity. He felt his heartbeat returning to normal, but held his breath before rapping lightly on the door of the cabin.
Erika’s face appeared briefly in the smudged window. The hinges creaked and s
he flew into his arms. “What took you so long? Are you all right? Are you hurt?” Her questions came in ragged bursts of emotion, her face buried in his chest as she sobbed in relief. “You should have been here long ago!”
“A disaster, Erika!”
“I know—it just felt wrong from the start. I love you, but what I said is true—you never listen to me!” She thumped his chest hard with both fists.
He laughed with relief at seeing her. “Now come on, we can’t stay on deck.” Erika pulled him into the gloom.
The lanterns from dockside cast a feeble light in the tight confines of the cabin. Leo, sitting on the floor beside Sophie, called up to him: “We’re sailors now, Papa! We’re going to sea!”
“Papa,” echoed Sophie, liking the word. “Papa, Papa.”
“Hush, you two,” Erika’s voice low but stern, “keep it down or we’ll be discovered!”
Leo whispered to his mother, “but it’s good to have Papa here with us, isn’t it?”
René squatted down to tousle both children’s heads, then tensed in surprise and bolted upright. Two figures were silhouetted against the dull glow of the forward windows. Erika quickly defused the situation: “They’re friends, my love, and here to help.”
A teenaged youth eagerly extended his hand. “Georges, sir, Félix’s deckhand…” His voice faltered. “But now your man, if you’ll have me…have the two of us.” His companion stepped forward, a girl barely his own age. Her headscarf revealed little beyond a pretty nose. “My fiancée, Lisette. She cooks and knows the ocean as well as I do, and she can mind the children.”
The slender girl offered her hand. “Enchantée, monsieur.” Now René could see the girl had been crying. She was very young and very pretty. He turned to Erika, perplexed. “Care to fill me in on your plan?”
“Janine Mercier’s given us this boat and left town. She knows the Boches will confiscate it soon enough, once they connect the attack to Félix.” She gave Lisette a quick glance.
Fulcrum of Malice Page 20
