by Lee Jackson
Amélie stood at the back door past the restrooms. She waved wordlessly and exited. The door opened onto an alley.
Turning right, Amélie walked at a methodical pace, neither fast nor slow.
Jeannie followed, and behind her, so did the two men.
A car turned into the alley in front of them. Amélie crossed to the passenger side as it slid to a halt. She turned, summoned Jeannie with a wave, and held the back door open for her. The two men entered on the opposite side of the car.
“We’ll be all right,” Amélie said as Jeannie squeezed into the back while eyeing her with great uncertainty. “We’re taking you to a safe place.”
Then Jeannie saw the driver. Phillippe. Her emotions flooded.
When they had finally navigated the obstacles and were safely inside the wine cellar below the farmhouse in L’Orme, Jeannie wrapped her arms around Amélie and wept. Phillippe stood to one side and watched them.
“Major Bergmann wanted me interrogated,” she said between sobs, “and Bauer was ready to do anything to make me talk.” She stood back, wiped her eyes, and brought herself under control. “Oberst Meier is a wonderful, good man. But for him, I would be in a Gestapo torture cell right now.”
She stopped suddenly and stared at Amélie. “What are you doing here? How did you get here?” She laughed through a sob. “And how good to see you.”
She turned to Phillippe and embraced him, holding her head close to his chest. “And you, my good friend, you came to rescue me.”
“We all did, Jeannie.” He kissed her forehead. “Amélie, her sister, her father, his brother, his nephew—” He laughed. “It’s mostly a family affair. Then there’s Jacques, Théo, Brigitte, and the old couple who own the farmhouse. London is monitoring.” He squeezed her. “We weren’t going to let you go, Jeannie. Not without a fight.”
Jeannie’s eyes moistened again amid quiet sobs. “I’ve felt so alone all this time. And now, I can’t go home. I had to leave everything behind, including my parents. I’m a danger to them.”
Through her tears, she saw a girl approach, a younger version of Amélie. Wiping her eyes, she turned to Amélie. “Is this your sister?”
Amélie nodded. “Chantal.”
“And you came for me too? You’re so young, still a girl. You shouldn’t have.”
“Of course I should have,” Chantal said, hugging her. “Look at what you did for us. I’m happy to meet you.”
“You’ll meet everyone,” Amélie said, “but how did you get out of there?”
“That was Meier’s and Reichenau’s doing.”
Amélie led her to the long table with the others. “We were putting together a plan to raid the Gestapo headquarters, and then we got a call from the waiter in the café to tell us you were there. He followed our emergency protocol.”
After all were seated, Jeannie told them of the events as they had happened in sequence, beginning with Bergmann’s confrontation with her and the meetings with Meier, the chief of staff, Reichenau, and the Gestapo. “The field marshal is a powerful man,” she said, “and he won’t be bullied. I don’t know why he and the army staff stood up for me, but they did.” She smiled. “I know they could not believe that I would spy on them, but there was something beyond that. I could see in my last meeting with all of them that Reichenau had put the fear of God into the Gestapo and Major Bergmann. Anyway, he got them to drop their investigation of me in exchange for ordering me out of Dinard and anywhere else along the Atlantic coast.” She sniffed. “I quite like the town. I’ll miss it.” She shrugged. “But Bergmann is not done with me. He won’t stop.”
“You’re right,” Phillippe said, glancing first at Jeannie and then at Amélie. “He sounds vindictive.”
“You stay here and rest,” Amélie told her. “Several of us have another task this afternoon.”
“Can I help?”
Amélie shook her head. “We have enough people, but I do have a question. We’ve observed Bergmann run along the cliffs. Do you think he’ll be out there today?”
Jeannie laughed involuntarily and shrugged. “He runs most days, particularly when he’s frustrated, and today he’s very frustrated. He saw me slip from his grasp. Rain, snow, sunshine. It makes no difference to him. He’s obsessed with keeping that Aryan physique in shape. The path he takes will be clear. He’ll run.”
Amélie glanced at the others. “We don’t have much time. We should go.”
32
Oberst Meier watched Bergmann closely as Jeannie left the field marshal’s office after being dismissed. He had seen her jaw clench and her fists tighten when Reichenau told her that charges against her would be dropped, but that she would be required to leave Dinard.
Major Bergmann burned with anger. The agreement by which Jeannie had been set free had been made over his head without anyone asking his opinions or concerns. His eyes followed her with malevolence as she disappeared through the door. He waited only moments before he excused himself and left the room.
Meier had let him go to see what he would do, and shortly after, the oberst followed. Predictably, the major went straight to Jeannie’s desk. She had not stopped there, her co-workers told him. She had gone straight through toward the exit. Bergmann then hurried through the halls. By the time he reached the security checkpoint, she was nowhere in sight.
When he started back toward his office, he was surprised to see Meier there, watching him.
Meier advanced on him. “Major Bergmann, let me be clear. The issue with Fräulein Rousseau is closed. She is no longer your concern, and I direct you here, now, to turn your attention to securing the vulnerabilities of this headquarters, to include exploring the suggestions I mentioned in our meeting. That’s a far more productive contribution to the Reich than pursuing one lone translator.”
Simmering with hostility, Bergmann snapped to attention. “Yes, sir. Will that be all?”
“No. I will be watching you closely. I expect you to conduct yourself professionally. You may go.”
“Yes, sir.” Bergmann clicked his heels and raised his right arm in a Nazi salute. “Heil Hitler.”
Meier too enjoyed the finger of land enveloped between water at the northern tip of Dinard. The area was sparsely populated compared to parts above other cliffs rising from a cove on the opposite side of this narrow outcropping that jutted into the English Channel. He walked a path near the edge of the precipice regularly to strengthen his wounded right leg. The bullet that had ended his command had gone deep and severed an artery. The quick work of an enlisted medic had saved his life, but he had lost a lot of blood, required several hours of surgery, and a month of hospitalization and therapy before the doctors would release him back to duty.
His mentor, General Erwin Rommel, was rumored to be leaving for Africa to take command of the Afrika Korps, and Meier was anxious to rejoin him and assume another combat command. His leg needed more strengthening to eliminate his limp.
On his walks, he had seen Bergmann running along the cliffs several times and had developed a grudging respect for his determination. Meier sensed that the man lived and breathed Nazi dogma and did everything possible to live up to Party expectations. That extended to keeping in good physical form, although Meier had noticed that neither Adolf Hitler nor Herman Göring exemplified that ideal.
Today was a good day for running or walking, with a sunny afternoon and a temperature of forty-two degrees. Shortly after beginning his jaunt, Bergmann loped past him in athletic attire, his jersey barely concealing a small pistol strapped to his side as he headed toward the farthest point on the small peninsula. Bergmann acknowledged the oberst with a curt salute but otherwise said nothing and continued along the lane. Meier watched him go, envying his physical ability.
Bergmann had seen Meier ahead of him. He loathed the oberst and enjoyed the sense of superiority that came from running past him in top physical form. Meier was known for strength and stamina, but his wound had relegated him to limping along. The major attri
buted Meier’s fast pace through the headquarters this morning to a burst of adrenalin stemming from anger. Maybe his annoyance with me will drive him to a heart attack. If not, sooner or later, I’ll trap and arrest him for being an enemy of the state.
He took a quick look over his shoulder and saw that Meier was no longer in sight. Putting on a burst of speed, Bergmann reveled in his athletic ability and the landscape unfolding before him. To his right, the sea broke against massive boulders far below at the base of the cliffs. In front of him, the trail wound uninterrupted, aside from a few houses spread far apart to his left on this small peninsula.
After some minutes, he reached the end of the finger and stopped to take in the magnificent sun in its final moments before settling over the horizon. He heard footsteps and turned to see an old man plodding his way from the other side of the outcropping. The man was thin and white-haired, and he walked with a cane and was bent at the waist. A girl walked beside him, and another young woman trailed behind them.
Bergmann took notice of the man, but quickly returned his attention to the waning sun. As it dipped, and while rays still thrust into the sky, he turned for his return run back to headquarters. Then he heard the old man call to him.
“Major Bergmann.”
The major peered at the man who, standing with his back to the golden horizon, he could see only in silhouette.
“Do I know you?” Bergmann asked.
“You searched for me hard enough,” the old man said. “You executed our friends and neighbors. You even thought I was dead, and you hung wanted posters for my daughters in the headquarters.”
Bergmann peered through the dusk, and in that instant, he recognized the voice. “Ferrand Boulier? That’s you, isn’t it?” He laughed. “You’re being brazen as hell confronting me like this.”
“We know our limitations,” Ferrand said calmly.
Bergmann shielded his eyes and scrutinized the three figures coming toward him. “And with your daughters? Amélie and Chantal, as I recall.” He peered at the younger sister. “You’ve grown and filled out,” he said mockingly. “Your father must be so proud.”
An uneasy pang formed in his stomach. Mindful of an ambush that had taken place the last time he went after Ferrand, he looked around warily. “Why are you here?”
“You’ve been tried and convicted in absentia for the murder of nine people. We’re here to carry out sentence.”
“You what?” Bergmann’s tone changed to one that mocked. “You’re a lunatic old man.”
“And you’re alone,” Ferrand said. “We’re not.” As he spoke, six heavily armed men rose from both sides of the path, blocking the way. Two of them, Phillippe and Jacques, moved in front of Ferrand and his daughters to protect them from Bergmann.
The major searched back and forth warily, taking in the group arrayed against him. He smirked. “You’re going to execute me?” he mocked. “Do you know the retribution that the Gestapo will take against the people of Dinard?” As he spoke, he glanced over his shoulder to gauge his proximity to the cliffs. Far below, roaring waves crashed against jagged rocks.
Ferrand stepped in front of his protectors and approached to within a few feet of the major. “You’ve guessed your sentence. I’m here to—”
In a flash, Bergmann lunged toward Ferrand, knocking him to the ground. They rolled together. No one fired for fear of hitting Ferrand. When they stopped, Bergmann held his pistol at Ferrand’s head.
“If I go, old man, you do too,” Bergmann growled. To the others, he yelled, “Drop your weapons and back away, or this old man dies right here, right now.”
Amélie gasped.
Chantal screamed, “Papa,” and took a few steps forward.
Phillippe stopped her with an outstretched arm. “You’ll die too,” he called to Bergmann.
“I’m dead either way,” Bergmann snarled. He jammed the barrel of the pistol into Ferrand’s temple. “Now put those weapons down and back away. I won’t repeat myself again.”
Frustrated, Phillippe glanced at his men and nodded. Then he slowly lowered his rifle to the ground and backed off as the others did likewise.
“Chantal,” Bergmann bellowed. “Collect those weapons and put them in front of me. Carry them by their slings.” He raised his voice to a shout. “If anyone moves toward me, Ferrand is dead, and Chantal is next.”
Cautiously, fearfully, Chantal complied while the others watched, and when she had finished, Bergmann called to her again. “Bring one here and set it next to me. Then stand close by.” He glanced at Amélie and instructed, “Stand next to your sister.” Then he called out, “If anyone comes near, both girls get it.”
To Ferrand, he said, “We’re going to get up. Slowly. If you so much as twitch the wrong way, I’ll shoot you in the head and then kill your precious Amélie and Chantal. Do you understand?”
Ferrand nodded, and together, the two men rose to their feet, with Bergmann holding Ferrand tightly in front of him facing Phillippe and his group. Behind them, the sun’s last rays shrank over the sea.
Suddenly, with a loud roar, Ferrand shoved backward. He dug his feet in, pushing with all his strength.
Surprised and knocked off balance, Bergmann struggled for footing, but could not recover from Ferrand’s relentless drive across the few remaining feet to the cliff’s edge. And then at the last moment, as Ferrand’s daughters and their security escort watched in horror, the major spun, thrusting Ferrand over the precipice and into the dark void.
“No!” Chantal shrieked. She rushed Bergmann, hurling herself against him and then falling to the ground with her head and shoulders protruding over the brink.
Once again off balance from the force of Chantal’s attack, Bergmann teetered on the edge, terror on his face, and then plummeted to the rocks and the pounding waves where his dying scream ended abruptly.
Amélie dashed to Chantal, helping her away from the brink, while the men surrounded them and gently backed them away to safety. There the sisters dropped to their knees, holding each other in grief.
Twilight faded; night descended. Oberst Meier had wanted to reach the tip of the rocky finger before sunset, but he still could not walk fast enough, long enough. He was about to turn around when he heard voices in the distance that sounded distressed, with loud cries, yelps, and then a long, terrified scream, followed by women sobbing.
Continuing through the shadow of dusk, after several minutes he reached a place by the edge of the cliff near its northernmost point. By the glow coming off the sea, he found a man with two women, girls really, who were in obvious grief.
“What’s the problem?” he asked sternly.
Phillippe stared up at the man standing before them. Having heard his approach, the other three men, Nicolas, Jacques, and Claude, had moved into deeper shadows.
Meier’s French was passable, but his accent immediately identified him as German, and his bearing signified that he was probably military. “I am Oberst Meier. Who are you?”
Phillippe recognized the name as that of the officer Jeannie said had saved her. He rose to his feet and approached Meier. “My name is Armand,” he said, making up the name on the fly. “We were walking here to enjoy the sunset—myself, these two sisters, and their father. Some fool was trying to climb the cliffs, and he put himself in grave danger. Their father went to help, and both fell to the rocks below.” His head drooped. “I don’t think either one could have survived.”
Meier tried to peer through the shadows to see who else might be around. Besides Phillippe, he saw only the two girls. He took a deep breath, wondering who had fallen. Bergmann? I didn’t see him return along the path.
He went to the girls. “Your father must have been a brave man,” he said, grasping their shoulders. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Amélie and Chantal continued holding onto one another, their bodies shaking as they sobbed quietly.
“We called for them,” Phillippe said, “but we heard no response.”
&nbs
p; “We should get the women back into town. We’ll have to make a police report. Do you know if the second man, the fool climbing the cliffs, was German or French?”
“He cried out to us for help in perfect French but with a slight German accent.”
“More than likely one of ours. We’ll have to get the military police involved. But for now, let’s get the sisters to safety where they can comfort each other.”
“Thank you, sir. I met someone recently who knew you from the headquarters and said you were a fair man.”
“I try. That’s hard during a war. What was your name again?”
“Armand.”
“And the friend who knew me?”
“I wish I could tell you. It was a conversation in a bar.”
Meier remained silent for a while. “Well,” he said, “let’s take care of these women, shall we?”
The four of them walked together back along the path the way they had come. Following far behind, Jacques and Nicolas did their best to console Claude over the loss of his brother without alerting Meier to their presence or that of their other companions.
“You’re limping, sir,” Phillippe said.
“A recent war wound. I’m afraid I’ll slow you down a bit.”
“I see that. I’ll take the women ahead to get them situated, and we thank you for your courtesy.”
Meier took a deep breath. “I should warn you that if we can’t find you tomorrow, you’ll be a fugitive.”
Startled, Phillippe pivoted in the path to stand in front of Meier. “You’re a good man, Oberst, and there aren’t many of those on your side in this war. I trust our paths will cross again.”
“I can’t see what you look like in this darkness, and I don’t know your real name.”