Return to the Field

by Return to the Field (retail) (epub)

  ‘So you’re a Résistant?’

  ‘No, I’m—’

  ‘—lying, le Guen. You must know – and you’re going to tell me – what he expected to get from you.’ The small hands slapped down on the desk: ‘D’you want to be taken down and whipped?’

  He’d shut his eyes: moved his head from side to side…

  The tall man pushed himself off the wall. ‘Shall I—’

  ‘Perhaps – but just wait a moment—’

  ‘If I knew anything, I’d—’

  ‘Sharpens the mind, le Guen, a good whipping. In the long run it might save us a lot of time.’

  ‘But I can’t tell you what I don’t know!’

  ‘I suppose you realize I can have you shot? Or do it myself, even, here and now – without needing anyone’s permission? See here…’

  There was a pistol – a Luger – in that small right hand, resting on the desk-top, aimed at his eyes… Le Guen blinking at it, at the small black hollow circle aimed and steady… A click then: Braun’s small thumb had moved. ‘That was the safety-catch. It’s off now, I have only to squeeze the trigger. If I kill you here, now, there’s nobody on God’s earth will give a damn.’ A shrug. ‘Well, your daughter might shed tears, obviously, but—’

  ‘I’ll answer any question I’m capable of answering. Anything, everything—’

  ‘But you said you know nothing!’

  ‘Very little.’ Shaking his head. ‘Very little. Truly, I swear—’

  Braun clicked the safety-catch on and put the gun down.

  ‘It’d be messy here. The orderlies wouldn’t thank me. Better in the cellar. In the cellar we can do anything we like to you. Mulder there’s an expert, he’s broken much stronger men than you, believe me… Anyway, here’s one thing you must know – what kind of information is Prigent expecting you to provide?’

  ‘One thing only, that I know of. He’s not expecting anything from me, though – I’d told him that I would not work for him!’

  ‘What one thing only?’

  ‘The names of informers.’

  ‘Informers?’

  ‘People who inform on Résistants or Maquis or – anything of that sort.’

  ‘Have you given him names?’

  ‘I don’t know any. How should I? I told him first I didn’t want to be involved, second it was unlikely in any case that I’d get to hear about such things. Exactly what I’ve been telling you – sir…’

  ‘Wanted you to nose around for him, did he?’

  ‘Yes. I told him I didn’t have the nerve.’

  ‘Was that your only reason for refusing his request?’

  ‘Excuse, more than reason. I wanted no part in it. Frankly I’m not – well—’

  ‘What else did he ask for?’

  ‘Well – anything—’

  ‘Wait!’ Someone had knocked: came in without waiting for permission, pushed the door shut again. Fischer’s voice: ‘On the way, sir. No problems.’

  ‘Good.’ The bloodshot eyes came back to le Guen. ‘What else – you were saying?’

  ‘Anything I saw or heard. But I wasn’t taking much notice, because as I’ve told you I had no intention—’

  ‘Didn’t he give you examples of the kind of material he’d find interesting?’

  ‘No. He didn’t.’

  ‘You swore blind he’d never asked for anything in particular, but since then you’ve come up with his request for the names of informers. Perhaps your memory does need sharpening!’

  ‘No – I’d forgotten that. That’s all. I swear to you—’

  ‘That bullshit about invasion coming soon. There’d have to be some reason for it, something he was leading up to. What would you think he’d want, in that context? Intelligence of troop movements or dispositions, fixed defences?’

  ‘To identify informers – if information was being passed out about Resistance or Maquis preparations – that was the context.’

  ‘You did know he was a British agent – right?’

  ‘No. He could have been simply a Résistant – wouldn’t they want to know things? Especially names of people who might have informed on them?’

  ‘To whom d’you think he’d have passed such information if you’d given him any?’

  ‘I suppose the Maquis – or other Résistants.’

  ‘Was there ever any mention of radio communication? A radio link with London?’

  ‘No. Why – is that—’

  ‘Whom did you meet at the dental surgery apart from Prigent himself?’

  ‘Nobody.’ He felt himself shake: a shiver right through his body… ‘Except a few patients. And the receptionist, Prigent’s assistant – a blonde girl, quite young.’

  ‘Same one each time?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did she know you were there for purposes other than dentistry?’

  ‘I don’t know. I had no conversations with her – she’s never said more to me than good afternoon, M. Prigent won’t keep you waiting long – that sort of—’

  ‘Did you occupy the dentist’s chair?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘The blonde was excluded?’

  ‘Yes. He’d say, I shan’t need you, Gabrielle – and she’d—’

  ‘Gabrielle.’ He made a note. ‘Who else was there?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘On your last visit, say. Day before yesterday, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Well.’ Blinking: aware of Fischer somewhere behind him, near the door, and of the tall one watching maliciously from the side. He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t remember any others. May have been some, I suppose, there usually were. But who might have been sitting there on Saturday and who the time before—’

  ‘Would it surprise you to know we’ve been keeping a watch on that house? Hasn’t it occurred to you that we’d be bound to, knowing of Prigent’s activities? Try again, now – who else?’

  ‘As I said, there’d have been patients waiting. One or two, usually… On Saturday, though—’ Screwing his eyes up, trying to remember… ‘I think there was one patient waiting when I arrived. A woman. Yes – I was booked to see him ahead of her appointment, and Prigent was running late. I think she complained to the receptionist.’

  ‘Describe her.’

  ‘But – I couldn’t, possibly!’

  ‘Have you met other so-called patients who’ve been there for purposes other than dental treatment?’

  ‘No. Never.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Oh – how would I, indeed?’

  ‘Has Prigent never introduced you to any other person in his surgery – or in that house?’

  Staring at him. Blinking… Then: ‘No. He has not.’

  ‘So how would you explain the urgency of his calls to you?’

  ‘I don’t think I quite – follow…’

  ‘Take Saturday. At no notice at all he calls you, you drop everything and run obediently along. What this suggests to me is some other person has turned up so he wants you there at once. Otherwise – why the rush? And why wouldn’t he make an appointment the day before?’

  ‘He’d had a cancellation, I think. I don’t know anything about any other patient, but since his receptionist has to believe he’s seeing me only as a patient – well, as far as I know that’s how it is…’

  He watched Braun slide the pistol into a holster under his left arm, inside the leather jacket. One small hand went to his nose then, picking the left nostril with the tip of the thumb.

  ‘We’ll move to the next stage now. You’d better understand first that in view of your connection with Prigent – a known enemy agent, known to you as well as to us – if I allow you to walk out of here tonight you’ll remain very much on probation, under our eyes.’ Thumb against the forefinger, flicking away whatever he’d found in there. ‘For keeping it to yourself – failing to report approaches from an enemy agent – I’d be justified in having you shot. Beyond question. Even though your refusal to work with him is a mitigating ci
rcumstance – if it’s true… So. As it happens, I’m prepared to believe you on that point – and to give you a chance to redeem yourself by working for us now. Secretly, of course. You’ll get in touch with Prigent and tell him all right, you’ve decided you will work with him. Names of informers, to kick off with – we’ll give you a couple you can pass on. And whatever else he asks for… You’ll tell us of every request he makes of you, and on occasion you’ll give him the goods – tailor-made, provided by us. Perhaps some items he hasn’t asked for, now and then. We’ll pay you for your work – on top of your present wages, that’ll be – and if you serve us well, earn our trust – who knows… But only you and the three of us in this room will know anything at all about it. You won’t whisper it to any living soul. How does the proposition strike you?’

  Blinking… Glancing at the tall one: then back to Braun. He nodded. ‘All right. Yes.’

  ‘Good. Wise, too… So you can go home now, and I can get to bed.’ He glanced over le Guen’s head: ‘You’ll take him, uh?’

  A grunt, from behind there.

  ‘Le Guen – if your friends and neighbours want to know, you’ve been interviewed and established your innocence. It was an indiscretion of your daughter’s, not your own.’

  ‘Marie-Claude’s? What kind of—’

  ‘Wait. You’ll present yourself for work at the Kommandantur at the usual time. Tomorrow evening, from your home, telephone Prigent for an appointment – and take it from there. You’ll submit verbal reports to Leutnant Fischer: he’ll tell you when and where. Secrecy is vital – remember that. Prigent must believe you’re acting out of patriotism and dislike of us. You were scared of the idea, but you’ve steeled yourself. He must not be allowed to suspect the truth even for a second; you’ll tell no one, no one at all. Understand?’

  ‘Not even my daughter?’

  ‘Not even her.’ Le Guen saw the quick glance he threw Fischer. Pointing at him, then: ‘Take the straps off him, Mülder.’ The tall man started towards him. Braun cleared his throat… ‘The fact is, you’ll have no opportunity to tell your daughter. Brace yourself for this now. She’ll come to no harm – you have my word for it – but she’s in our custody, and will remain so.’

  ‘Custody?’

  ‘For the foreseeable future. I repeat, no harm will come to her. She’s held as a hostage, with others.’

  ‘Hostage – Marie-Claude… No – for God’s sake—’

  ‘An insurance policy on your loyalty to us – nothing else. Although regrettably hostages can be shot, in certain circumstances, she will not be. She’ll be held at Kerongués with the rest of them – perfectly safe as long as you do just as you’re told. So it’s entirely—’

  ‘It’s shocking! I can’t believe it! Look, there’s no reason—’

  ‘—up to you, you see. And don’t breathe a word – because if Prigent did get to hear of it, and put two and two together – well, we might think you’d tipped him off, eh?’

  ‘Look – I’d never have agreed—’

  ‘Sooner qualify for a firing-squad? You and your daughter?’

  Staring at each other…

  ‘Please.’ Shaking his head: eyes brimming. ‘Please – I’d work better for you if you – let me have her back. Honestly, I would, I’d—’

  ‘You’ll work your brains out for us in any case. That’s what the deal is. Unless you want to change your mind, refuse it?’

  His hands were free now: the tall one straightening, moving away. Braun reached to turn down the lamp’s beam.

  ‘Insurance, le Guen. That’s all it is.’

  Chapter 9

  At breakfast, Peucat proposed starting the day with calls on patients, around mid-morning dropping in on his sister, and on the way back seeing about Rosie’s permits which by that time should be ready for her to collect. After lunch he’d be off to Quimper to see these old friends of his.

  She’d nodded, yawning. It had been well after midnight when she’d turned in. Lucky in fact to have been able to knock off that early: Baker Street’s signal about the drops had started coming in a few minutes after midnight. It had been only a short transmission and they’d had nothing else for her, so she’d been able to close down right away. Still having to decode the message, of course; it had told her that Guido’s and Pluto’s drops were to be made simultaneously this next Saturday at midnight Central European Time, recognition signals to be respectively ZG and ZP; also that a French weaponry instructor would be dropped with Pluto’s consignment – Jaillon had asked for this, and that it should be a Frenchman if possible – and the spare Mark III transceiver and ‘S’ phone she’d asked for with Guido’s.

  Definitely must attend that drop, she thought. Get the gear before it did a Maquis-type disappearing trick.

  Pouring herself more coffee, she asked Peucat, ‘Before we go out, would you mind telephoning Count Jules and Guy Lannuzel for me? You’d want to ask after the countess, I imagine—’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Tell them “Zoé asks me to say that the best day for a visit looks like Saturday – this coming one.” Would you do that?’

  ‘The parachutages?’

  She nodded. ‘They’ll know what it means – and Count Jules’ll pass it on to Jaillon. Oh, a bit more, though – you might add to the count “Jean-Paul’s guest will be coming too”.’

  ‘Don’t bother to explain, just write it down for me. But that’s quick work, Suzanne!’

  ‘Well. Has to be.’

  ‘That much of a rush?’

  The invasion, he was referring to, obliquely. She nodded, putting down her cup.

  ‘We’re into May now – d’you realize? Late spring, summer – they’ll need good weather, won’t they?’

  ‘The Boches would be aware of that as well.’

  ‘But not precisely when. Which month, even. Please God. And not where.’

  ‘I’d bet on the Pas de Calais. Surely – the shortest crossing?’

  ‘Maybe you’re right.’

  Before leaving the house she made a more thorough job of hiding her stuff in the attic. A feeling that maybe she hadn’t taken enough trouble over it had worried her last night – visions of grey Citroëns tearing into the village and halting with screaming tyres, fists pounding on Peucat’s door, searchers bursting in… Anyway, she’d improved it now. There was a loose floorboard – several probably, but this was the one she’d been using – and the improvements were to push the transceiver and its bits and pieces, together with her pistol and le Guen’s money, to arm’s length, to be as far as possible out of sight in the musty-smelling under-floor space, then pile in litter collected from the eaves – remains of old birds’ nests; bits of broken tiles, rotten battens – and after replacing the board to scatter muck and dust over it and into the cracks around it.

  * * *

  Spring had definitely though belatedly arrived. Clear blue sky, trees in fresh green leaf or bud… The village was contrastingly run-down, though: through lack of both money and materials, Peucat said, on their way on foot from one housebound patient to another. Then the phrase one heard so often: ‘The Boches take everything…’ People in the streets were also shabby – which made Rosie feel comfortably inconspicuous – and most looked underfed. Peucat commented on this too. ‘We do a lot better than townsfolk, but for the poor it’s tempting to sell their produce rather than eat it. So the black market flourishes, and they starve.’ He pointed: ‘L’Hôtel Grand Maison. The Boches billeted troops there at one time, but it’s empty now. This is Rue d’Amoriques. Café de la Paix there – never much of anything to be had… When we go to my sister, by the way – well, coming this way along Rue des Champs Verts – joins this one down there, see – past the gendarmerie where we were yesterday – might call in there on our way back later, incidentally – it’s the left fork out of the market place. About five kilometres. We’ll take the gazo, of course.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  ‘A day off from your cycling
. You’d need it, I dare say. Listen – I’ll leave you with my sister when we get there. There’s a patient I should visit in Lanvezennec – that’ll give you about long enough.’

  ‘Can you manage without my help?’

  ‘Very droll this morning, Suzanne.’

  ‘I must try to make myself useful, though. While you’re in Quimper this afternoon, for instance – anything I could do?’

  ‘Getting my records into order might be a good start. I’m no good at paperwork. Carried it all in my head – always have, but – so much now… And as for the accounts one’s supposed to keep—’

  ‘To visiting so-and-so, half a bottle of cognac?’

  ‘Those I do not record. But sorting the paperwork would also familiarize you with names and ailments. That wouldn’t be a bad thing at all.’

  He’d telephoned Count Jules and Lannuzel, and given them the good news. By now it would be on its way up into the hills: the messengers, she guessed, would be Guy Lannuzel himself and the Scrignac gamekeeper, Vannier.

  Marthe Peucat, whom they got to at about eleven-thirty, turned out to be a gaunt woman, stiff-backed, steely-eyed, with white hair, eyes like brown marbles and the same sallow complexion as her brother’s. She had a slate-roofed cottage and half an acre of garden in which she grew vegetables and kept ducks on a pond; she showed Rosie around the outside before taking her in and giving her coffee and home-made biscuits.

  The cottage comprised numerous small rooms with low ceilings and tiny windows. Ornaments on every surface. No fire in the grate: the kitchen was warm enough but in this sitting-room it was colder than outside.

  ‘I told my brother that if you thought it preferable to live here, rather than in his bachelor establishment, I should be glad to have you. But you find it more convenient there with him?’

  ‘Well – yes. It’s most kind of you – I appreciate it – and this must be a lovely, tranquil place to live—’

  ‘I like it, certainly. And I’ve lived here thirty years!’

  ‘As long as that?’

  ‘Since before you were born – eh?’

  ‘Yes. Just. But as you said – working with your brother, it’s much more convenient. I’d have to spend so much time cycling to and fro.’