Cold Harbour

by Jack Higgins

  'We're rather short on time, ma'am,' Craig said patiently.

  'Then I suggest you go, Major, while you still can. Both of you.'

  Genevieve filled with panic, reached forward to pull the bedclothes back. Hortense grasped her wrist with surprising strength. 'Listen to me.' There was iron in her voice now. 'You once told me you knew I had a bad heart?'

  'But that wasn't true. Just another lie they fed me to induce me to come here.'

  'Anne-Marie believed it. An invention of my own to explain certain dizzy spells I've become increasingly subject to. I kept the truth to myself. One has one's pride.'

  The room was so quiet that Genevieve could hear the clock ticking. 'And what is the truth?' she whispered.

  'A month now, perhaps two, and it will be painful. Already is. Dr Marais didn't pretend. He's too old a friend for that.'

  'Not true.' Genevieve was angry now. 'Not any of it.'

  'Did you ever wonder where you got your eyes from, cherie?' She had both of Genevieve's hands now. 'Look at me.'

  Green and amber, flecked with golden light and filled with love, more love than Genevieve could ever have believed existed and she was telling the truth, she knew that. Her childhood seemed to slip away from her. She experienced a feeling of utter desolation that was almost unbearable.

  'For me, Genevieve.' She kissed her on both cheeks gently. 'Do this for me. Always you have given me your love, total, unselfish. The most precious thing in my life, I can tell you this now. Would you deny me the right to give less?'

  Genevieve backed away, hands shaking, unable to reply. Hortense said, 'You'll leave me one of your guns, Major?' It was a command, not a request and Craig took out his Walther and placed it beside her on the bed.

  'Hortense?'

  Genevieve reached out, but Craig caught her by the arm. 'Go now,' her aunt said. 'Very quickly, please.'

  Craig got the door open, started to pull Genevieve through. Her eyes were hot. No tears would come. The last view she had of her aunt was of her sitting up in bed, one hand on the Walther and she was smiling.

  ****

  They moved silently down the great staircase. The hall was a place of shadows. Nothing stirred. 'Where would Priem be?' Craig whispered. 'In his office in the library. He sleeps there too.' A light showed under the door. He paused, the Schmeisser ready, turned the handle very gently and they went in.

  Priem was still in uniform, seated by the fire, working on some papers in the light of a desk lamp, totally absorbed in what he was doing. He glanced up, but showed no surprise, calm, totally in control as always.

  'Ah, the lover. Not quite what he seemed.'

  'Get his pistol,' Craig told her in English.

  'American?' Priem nodded. 'Of course a burst from that Schmeisser would arouse the whole household.'

  'Leaving you very dead indeed.'

  'Yes, that thought had occurred to me.'

  He stood up, hands on the desk. Genevieve moved behind him and took the Walther from its holster.

  'And now,' Craig said, 'the papers. The Atlantic Wall material. In that safe behind you, perhaps?'

  'And there, I'm afraid, you really are wasting your time.' Priem smiled. 'When I last saw them, they were in Field Marshal Erwin Rommel's briefcase. Half way to Paris by now, I should imagine. You're welcome to check, naturally.'

  'No need, Craig.' Genevieve took the cigarette case from her pocket and held it up. 'I had those documents for five minutes in my room earlier tonight as the Colonel well knows. I used this to good effect, just as you taught me. All twenty exposures.'

  'Now that really is beautiful,' Craig said. 'Wouldn't you agree, Colonel?'

  Priem sighed. 'I said you were a remarkable woman, Genevieve, did I not? So…' He came round the desk. 'What happens now?'

  'We leave by the side door,' Craig told him. 'The cloakroom entrance. Then we take a little walk down to the back courtyard. I noticed the General's Mercedes there earlier. That should do very nicely.'

  Priem ignored him, addressing himself to Genevieve. 'You'll never get away with it. Reichslinger is on duty himself tonight at the gate.'

  'You'll tell him the Field Marshal left important papers,' Craig said. 'Anything goes wrong, I'll kill you and if I don't, she will. She'll be down in back of us.'

  Priem looked faintly amused. 'You think you could, Genevieve? Now that I doubt.'

  No more than she did. Her flesh crawled at the very idea, her fingers, wrapped around the butt of the Walther trembled, her palm already damp with sweat.

  'No more talk,' Craig said. 'Now put on your cap, nice and regimental and let's get out of here.'

  And then they were somehow outside and walking through the rain across the cobbles of the rear courtyard. It was amazingly still, the Chateau black and empty. Nothing stirred and she tightened her grip on the Walther in the right-hand pocket of her hunting jacket.

  They reached the Mercedes. She opened the rear door and crouched down in the darkness between the seats holding the Walther ready. Priem got behind the wheel, Craig beside him. There was not a word spoken. The engine roared into life, they moved away. It wasn't long, of course, before they started to slow, then rolled to a halt. She heard the sentry's challenge, the click of his heels as he sprang to attention.

  'Your pardon, Standartenführer.'

  Priem hadn't needed to say a word. There was a slight creaking as the barrier was raised and then, quite suddenly, another voice, calling sharply from the guardhouse. Reichslinger.

  Genevieve held her breath as his feet crunched across the gravel. Perhaps he hadn't recognised Priem at first for there was only the diffused light of the guardhouse lantern. He leaned down, saying something in German she couldn't understand.

  Priem spoke to him. The only word she recognised was Rommel, so he was playing Craig's game after all. Reichslinger replied. There was a slight pause, his boots crunched in the gravel again, and, imagining him to be walking away, she glanced up cautiously. To her horror, she saw his face above, peering in at her through the side window.

  As he jumped back, tugging at his pistol, Craig raised the Schmeisser and fired straight through the window, showering her with glass, driving Reichslinger back in a mad dance, then he had the barrel hard against Priem's neck.

  They surged forward into the night, Priem working the wheel, swerving furiously as the sentry behind started to fire. And then the darkness swallowed them up and they were away.

  'You okay back there?' Craig asked.

  There was blood on her right cheek, sliced by a sliver of flying glass. She wiped it away casually with the back of her left hand, no pain, only the air, cold on her face and the rain drifting in through the shattered window.

  'Yes, I'm fine.'

  'Good girl.'

  They passed through Dauvigne, quiet as the grave and took the mountain road. 'A pointless exercise,' Priem said. 'Already every command post for miles will have been alerted by radio. Within an hour there will be a roadblock at every conceivable point.'

  'Long enough for our purposes,' Craig told him. 'Just keep driving and do as you're told.

  Hortense de Voincourt lay there in bed, propped against the pillows, aware of the pandemonium in the grounds outside that had followed upon the sounds of firing down at the main gate. There was shouting in the hall below, footsteps a moment later pounding along the corridor and then a thunderous knocking. She took a Gitane from the silver box and as she lit it, the door was flung open and Ziemke appeared, a pistol in his hand, an SS corporal standing behind him holding a Schmeisser.

  'Why, Carl,' she said. 'You do look agitated.'

  'What's going on,' he demanded. 'I've been informed that Anne-Marie, Priem and that French Standartenfuhrer just drove out of the main gate. Reichslinger's dead. That damned Frenchman shot him. The guard saw it from the hut.'

  'The best news I've heard in ages,' she informed him. 'I never did like Reichslinger.'

  He went very still, a slight frown on his face. 'Hortense?
What are you saying?'

  'That the party's over, Carl. That it's time I acted like a de Voincourt and remembered that you and your kind are occupying my country.'

  'Hortense!' He looked totaly bemused.

  'You're a nice man, Carl, but that isn't enough. You see, you're also the enemy.' Her hand came out from under the bedclothes. 'Goodbye, my dear.'

  She fired the Walther twice, catching him in the heart, driving him out into the ante-room. The SS corporal ducked out of sight, poked the barrel of the Schmeisser round the door and fired in return on full automatic, emptying the magazine. For Hortense de Voincourt, the darkness was instant and merciful.

  St Maurice was quiet as the grave as they drove through. Twenty minutes further on at the speed at which Priem was driving and they reached the coast road and Leon. The moon came out from behind a cloud at that moment as they reached the wood on the cliffs above Grosnez.

  Craig tapped Priem on the shoulder. 'Stop here.'

  The German braked to a halt, switched off the engine. 'What now? A bullet in the head?'

  'Nothing so easy.' Craig smiled. 'You're coming to England with us. There's someone I'd like you to meet. I'm sure he'll find you a mine of information.'

  He got out of the car. 'Grand Pierre?' he called.

  There were men up there, moving down out of the wood in sheepskin jacket and beret. Some with shotguns, others with rifles. They paused, looking down, and Grand Pierre moved forward.

  'Hello there!' he called cheerfully.

  Priem had a slight fixed smile on his face as he looked at Genevieve in the mirror. 'There's blood on your cheek.'

  'It's nothing. Just a cut.'

  'I'm glad.'

  Craig opened the driver's door and Priem reached under the dashboard of the car. His hand came out clutching a Luger and she reacted instinctively in blind panic, ramming the Walther against his spine, pulling the trigger twice.

  His body jerked, there was the smell of burning, the stench of cordite in her nostrils. Very slowly, he pushed himself up and half turned, surprise in his eyes more than anything and then blood erupted from the corner of his mouth and he slumped across the wheel.

  Craig reached for her as she scrambled out and she pushed him away. 'No, leave me alone!'

  He stood there, staring at her, his face dark, then unbuttoned the black SS tunic and tossed it into the Mercedes. Grand Pierre threw him a sheepskin coat, turned and nodded to one of his men who leaned across Priem's body and released the handbrake. It didn't take much of a push to send the Mercedes rolling over the edge of the cliff, crashing down into the sea below.

  She realised that she was still clutching the Walther, shuddered and put it in her pocket. 'He never thought I could do it,' she whispered. 'And when it comes right down to it, neither did I.'

  'So, now you know what it feels like,' Craig said. 'Welcome to the club.'

  His men stayed on the upper level while Grand Pierre went down the steps to the lower jetty with Craig and Genevieve to where the Lili Marlene waited.

  Schmidt called, 'Bleeding hell, he's done it. He's got her with him.'

  There was an excited murmur from the crew and Hare called down from the bridge, 'Congratulations. Now let's move it.'

  The engines rumbled into life. Craig stepped over the rail, turned to give Genevieve a hand.

  She said to Grand Pierre, 'Thank you for everything.'

  'Crumpled rose leaves, Miss Trevaunce, I warned you.'

  'Will I ever get over what I just did?'

  'Everything passes. Now off you go.'

  She reached for Craig's hand. As she touched the deck, the lines were cast off and the Lili Marlene slipped out to sea through the darkness.

  SIXTEEN

  HIMMLER FREQUENTLY SPENT the night in a small study adjacent to his office at Prinz Albrechtstrasse. It was four o'clock in the morning when Hauptsturmfuhrer Rossman approached the door with some trepidation, hesitated, then knocked. When he went in the Reichsfuhrer had turned on a small lamp and was already sitting up in the narrow camp bed.

  'What is it, Rossman?'

  'Bad news, I'm afraid, Reichsfuhrer.' Rossman held up a signal. 'This Chateau de Voincourt business.'

  Himmler reached for his glasses, adjusted them and held out his hand. 'Let me see.'

  He read the signal quickly, then handed it back. 'A nest of traitors, this place. I was right, you see, Rossman. All was not as it seemed. And Priem has completely disappeared?'

  'So it would appear, Reichsfuhrer.'

  'For good, I fear. This French terrorist movement, Rossman. Animals who will stop at nothing.'

  Rossman said, 'But what does it all mean? What was it about?'

  'I should have thought that was obvious, Rommel was their target. A great coup from their point of view, but according to the report on his movements you showed me before I retired, he left the ball early and traveled overnight to Paris. They got their timing wrong, that's all.'

  'Of course, Reichsfuhrer. I see that now. All troops are on full alert in the area. The countryside is being turned upside-down. Are there any other orders?'

  'Yes, hostages. One hundred, I think, taken from every village in the area. Executions at noon. We really must teach these people a lesson.' He removed his glasses and put them on the side table.

  'At your orders, Reichsfuhrer.'

  'Wake me at six,' Heinrich Himmler said calmly, and switched out the light.

  ****

  It was still dark as Dougal Munro walked down from the Abbey to Cold Harbour. He had his umbrella raised, an old tweed hat pushed down firmly over his head, his free hand holding the collar of his cavalry coat closed against his throat. Light showed through the drawn curtains of The Hanged Man, the sign swinging to and fro in the wind, creaking eerily.

  When he opened the door and went in he found Julie Legrande sitting by the fire, a glass in her hand.

  'Ah, there you are,' he said, shaking rain from his umbrella and putting it in the corner. 'Can't sleep, eh, just like me?'

  'Any news?' she asked.

  'Not so far. Jack's standing by in the radio room.' He took off his coat and hat and held his hands out to the fire. 'What are you drinking?'

  'Whiskey,' she said. 'A little lemon, some sugar and boiling water. When I was a child it was a remedy my grandmother employed against the flu. Now it's just a remedy.'

  'Little early in the day.'

  'For a lot of things, Brigadier.'

  'Now don't let's start all that again, Julie. I've already expressed my willingness to forget your part in this wretched affair. No recriminations, please. Let's leave it at that. Any chance of a cup of tea?'

  'Certainly. You'll find a kettle on the stove in the kitchen, a tea caddy and a pint of milk beside it.'

  'Oh, dear, like that, is it?'

  He went behind the bar and into the kitchen. Julie stirred the fire then moved to the window, pulled the curtain and peered out. There was a perceptible lightening outside. Not much, but a hint of dawn to come. She closed the curtain, went back to the fire and Munro came in, stirring a cup of tea with a spoon. In the same moment there was the sound of a vehicle drawing up outside. The door opened, a gust of wind blowing in followed by Jack Carter and Edge.

  Edge got the door shut with some difficulty and Munro said, 'Well?'

  Carter was smiling, a land of awe on his face. 'He did it, sir. Craig actually pulled it off. Got her out of there.'

  Julie leapt to her feet. 'You're certain?'

  'Absolutely.' Carter unbuttoned his wet trench coat. 'We had a message from Grand Pierre fifteen minutes ago. Hare waited with the Lili Marlene at Grosnez while Craig went to the Chateau. They left Grosnez just after midnight. With any luck they could be here in an hour and a half.'

  Julie flung her arms around his neck and Munro said, 'I always did say he was Houdini come back to trouble us, that boy.'

  Edge was wearing a black military trench coat over his Luftwaffe uniform. He unbuttoned it slowly, went beh
ind the bar and poured himself a large gin. His face was quite composed, but the anger showed in the eyes, touched by more than a bit of madness.

  'Isn't it marvelous, sir?' Carter said to Munro.

  'Highly dramatic, Jack, but very counter-productive,' the Brigadier told him.

  Julie laughed harshly. 'Craig spoiled your rotten little scheme, didn't he? It would have suited you far more if he hadn't managed to get back at all? If none of them had?'

  'It's a thought, I suppose, but a slightly hysterical one.' Munro picked up his Burberry and put it on. 'I've things to do. You can run me up to the house.' He turned to Edge. 'You want a lift?'

  'No, thanks, sir. I'll walk back. I need the air.'

  They went out. Julie, still angry, paced up and down. 'That man - that damned man.'

  'You certainly told him.' Edge took a bottle of gin from behind the bar and put it in his pocket. 'Anyway, I'm for a little shut-eye. It's been a long night.'

  When he let himself out, the wind was freshening. He went to the edge of the quay and looked out to sea. He uncorked the bottle of gin and drank deeply.

  'Damn you, Osbourne,' he said softly. 'Damn you and your bitch to hell! Damn the whole lot of you!'

  He replaced the bottle in his pocket, turned and started up the cobbled street through the village.

  The sea was lifting into whitecaps, rain driving in as the Lili Marlene raced onwards to the Cornish coast like a greyhound unleashed. Dawn was staining the sky in the east and when Genevieve peered out of one of the small portholes from the tiny ward room, she looked across a desolate wasteland.

  Craig sat opposite, still wearing the sheepskin jacket and Schmidt came in from the galley with tea. 'England, home and beauty. Not long now.' He was wearing a life jacket over his yellow oilskin.

  'What's all this?' Craig demanded.

  'Skipper's orders. He thinks it's going to get a bit nasty.' Schmidt put the mugs on the table. 'You'll find yours in the locker under the bench.'

  He went out, Genevieve swung her legs out of the way and Craig opened the locker and produced a couple of Kriegs-marine life jackets. He helped her into one then pulled on the other himself. He sat down opposite her again and drank his tea.