Codename Eagle

by Robert Rigby

  “Good countryside, eh, Erich?” Lau said to the driver. “Reminds me a little of the Black Forest.” He laughed. “But not so nice, eh? Not like home.”

  Lau would never usually address one of his team by his first name, even when they were out of earshot of other serving soldiers. But Erich Steidle was the exception. In his late thirties, Steidle was a good ten years older than Lau. Both men came from the city of Freiburg, in the south-west of Germany, close to the border with France. But while Lau’s career before the war had been as a professor of languages at the city’s ancient university, Steidle had laboured in the vineyards of both Germany and France, where he had learned his French.

  Coincidence had brought the two together in the Brandenburgers, but since then, Steidle, hard and as tough as teak, had taken the younger man under his wing. He was devoted to the officer and protective in an almost fatherly way.

  “I’ll be glad to get back to the north, sir,” Steidle said, manoeuvring the Citroën around another sharp bend. “It’s strange here – no sign of the war and no sign of the enemy. At least in the north we know that almost everyone is our enemy.”

  Lau smiled. “Yes, it is strange here: France, but not France. But the Vichy government likes to think it’s in charge of things in the south and we must allow them that.” He glanced out at the huge trees. “One day this war will be over, Erich.”

  “Could be a long time, though, sir.”

  Steidle turned the vehicle onto the mud track and they bumped past the stacks of piled logs and the house and the chained, barking dog, and drove into the yard.

  The lorry had already returned from the plateau and was parked close to the barn. At the sound of the approaching car, another of Lau’s men emerged from the house, followed by one of the twins. The twin hung back, but the soldier was waiting by the vehicle as Lau opened the door and stepped out.

  Lau frowned. The dog’s ferocious barking sounded even louder than it had the previous night.

  “Everything go OK on the plateau?” Lau asked the waiting soldier.

  “A slight problem, sir.”

  “Go on.”

  “Nothing wrong with the landing strip; it’s good, just as Monsieur Beergut told us. We double checked everything.”

  “But?”

  “A man turned up.” He gestured with his head towards the twin standing by the house. “A cousin of theirs. He was curious, had plenty to say, a bit full of himself. I used the cover story, but I’m not sure he was fooled.”

  “Will he come here?”

  The soldier shook his head. “The twin told him they were busy for the next few days.”

  Lau stared towards the forest, thinking over what he had heard.

  “And there’s one more thing, sir,” the soldier continued. “The man had been fighting.”

  “Why does that concern us?”

  “He’d been fighting with our friend, Monsieur Beergut. At his bar in Lavelanet. Sounds as though he can’t keep his mouth shut, even when he’s not drinking his own beer.”

  The dog was still barking as the twin approached Lau. “And which one are you?”

  “Gilbert, but that doesn’t matter.”

  “Perhaps I’ll be able to tell the difference by the time we leave.”

  “I doubt it,” Gilbert shrugged. “One of your men almost shot my cousin this morning. I watched him go for his pistol.”

  “But he didn’t shoot him.”

  “No, but I knew that one wrong word from my cousin and he’d have been lying dead out there on the plateau. It wasn’t necessary, Alain’s no trouble, I just had to talk to him.”

  “Then let’s hope you convinced him to stay away for the next couple of days.”

  “Look, we’re helping you,” Gilbert said angrily. “We’re not your enemies and we’re not involved in your war. And you couldn’t be doing any of this without us.”

  Lau’s voice softened. “Gilbert, let me assure you that I have no wish to kill anyone.” He glanced towards where he knew the dog was tethered. “Anyone, or anything.”

  SEVEN

  The mood around the table was tense, the air heavy with expectation.

  Henri had summoned them all, but had refused to say why until everyone was present. Now they were: his wife, Hélène; his daughter, Josette; Didier and Paul.

  Hélène, dressed all in black, as she had been since the death of her son the previous year, looked pale and anxious. She had never fully recovered from the blow of losing Venant.

  “We’re all here, Papa,” Josette said, “as you insisted. So why all the hurry?”

  “Because Paul is leaving us.”

  “Yes, he told us that this morning,” Josette said impatiently. She flashed a hostile look at Paul. They hadn’t spoken since her outburst in Henri’s office, and if Paul had been hoping that Josette’s temper might have eased since she got home, then he was mistaken. She looked as furious now, sitting at the dining room table, as she had when she had stormed away from her desk earlier in the day.

  “But since this morning there have been developments,” Henri said. “I’ve made radio contact with London twice. And the outcome is that they want Paul back there urgently.”

  “How urgently?” Paul asked before Josette could speak.

  “They’re not prepared to wait for a second attempt at crossing the mountains. It would take too long, and even after that, you might not get to London for months.”

  “So what is happening?”

  “They’re sending an aeroplane for you.”

  “A plane!”

  Henri nodded in response. He looked almost as surprised by his news as everyone else.

  “But they can’t send a plane from England,” Paul said. “It’s too far. Where would it land? Where would it refuel?”

  “It’s not coming from England. A light aircraft is flying from somewhere in the north of Portugal.”

  “But Portugal is a neutral country,” Josette said.

  “We have sympathizers there.”

  “But then what?” Paul asked, hardly believing his ears.

  “You’ll fly to Portugal, to a landing strip near the coast. A British submarine will be waiting offshore to take you to Britain.”

  This time no one spoke, but all eyes were on Paul. He looked stunned. “How soon?”

  “A few days at most. The submarine is on its way, and the British and their friends in Portugal and Spain are making their plans. We won’t be told the operational details.”

  “Because we don’t need to know.”

  The “need to know” rule was second nature to them all by now.

  “Exactly,” Henri said. “But, yes, the aircraft will obviously have to stop to refuel on both legs of the journey, probably somewhere near the border between Spain and France. We’ll receive further instructions as they come through, but we must be ready to move at a moment’s notice.”

  “And where will I be picked up from?”

  Henri shook his head. “For now you know as much as I do.”

  Didier gave Paul a reassuring smile. “It’s what you wanted, Paul. And we’ll do what we can to help.”

  Paul’s mind was racing. Only the previous evening his head had been full of dreams of eventually returning to England to join the war effort. It seemed this was to become reality much sooner than he could ever have imagined.

  He was sitting next to Hélène, where he always sat when they were eating. He knew it was the chair her son had used, but Hélène had seemed to take comfort from Paul’s presence at her side.

  She reached across and put one hand on his on the tabletop. “It sounds dangerous,” she said to Henri.

  “Yes, but Paul is accustomed to danger now.”

  “And it is his choice to go,” Josette said, not looking at Paul. “But why, Papa, why is there this urgency to get him back to Britain?”

  Henri considered for a moment. “Paul told me something when we spoke this morning, something about his father that the British are very anxiou
s to know. Something that could help the whole war effort.”

  Josette looked briefly at Paul and then back at her father. “Then why can’t you just radio them the information?”

  “Far too risky. Messages are intercepted and decoded. Paul must pass on what he knows in person.”

  Josette turned to Paul. “Another secret? Something else you decided not to let us in on until now?”

  “It isn’t like that,” Paul said quickly. “I only realized it myself this morning when I was talking to your father. Something my father had told me.”

  “Oh, how convenient. So what is this great secret?”

  “No!” Henri said, before Paul could reply. “Don’t say any more.”

  “But he’s told you, Papa,” Josette snapped.

  Henri shook his head. “No, Josette. All Paul has told me is that he thinks he knows the whereabouts of vital information his father had. And that’s all I’ve passed on to London. I don’t know what that information is and neither does Paul. He knows where the information is hidden, and that is what he must tell the British. In person.”

  Suddenly Josette didn’t care about being angry any more. All that mattered was that Paul was going to leave very soon. And she didn’t want it to happen.

  “But what about everyone at the factory?” she said to Henri as panic tightened her chest. “What will we tell them?”

  “We use Paul’s cover story; the one he’s had all along. We say he decided after all that he doesn’t want to make a career in the textile industry and has returned to his family north of Lyon.”

  “And Gra-mere?” Josette was searching desperately for reasons to delay Paul’s imminent departure. “He can’t just disappear without saying goodbye to her.”

  Henri thought for a moment. “Yes, you should see my mother, Paul; she’s become very fond of you, as we all have. She’ll know to say nothing about this to anyone, so visit her tomorrow and say your farewells.”

  “I will,” Paul said.

  “But…”

  Everyone turned to look at Josette, but she could think of nothing else to say. She shook her head and stared down at the table.

  Henri sighed. “It’s incredible. In a matter of days they’ll swoop in, pick you up and you’ll be gone. And then who knows when we’ll see you again.”

  Hélène seemed to be on the verge of tears. She squeezed Paul’s hand, got up and left the room.

  “They’ve given the operation a codename for radio contact,” Henri said as the door closed. “You should know it, Didier, in case you have to take over.”

  “Why would I need to take over?”

  Henri shrugged. “Just in case – the codename is Eagle.”

  EIGHT

  The warm spring day had turned into another chilly night, but sitting in the darkness beneath the vine-covered pergola on the back of the house, Josette was oblivious to the cold.

  There was enough starlight to make out most of the walled garden: the trees and shrubs, the bulbs poking through the grass, the old iron gate at the far end that was always closed but never locked.

  It was all so familiar; Josette had spent the entire seventeen years of her life living in that house. And the town of Lavelanet. It suddenly seemed a small world now that Paul would be flying away, probably forever.

  The house was quiet. Josette knew her parents had gone to bed, but had no idea where Paul was. She got up from the painted metal chair, wandered aimlessly over the paving slabs of the terrace and walked further into the garden.

  Soft footsteps sounded behind her and she turned to see Paul approaching. He was carrying one of her warm jackets. Josette smiled. There was no anger now, or panic, just an overwhelming feeling of deep sadness.

  “I saw you out here; thought you must be cold,” Paul said, handing over the jacket.

  “A bit, I suppose,” Josette answered, putting on the jacket and fastening the buttons. She hesitated before speaking again. “Paul, who do you think killed Gaston Rouzard?”

  Paul gave a short laugh. “That’s the last thing I thought you’d ask me now.”

  Josette smiled. “You thought I’d start complaining again about you leaving us. But I won’t, not any more. And I’m sorry for getting so angry; I think I understand why you want to go now.”

  “I want to go but… I don’t want to leave you. Any of you. It’s just that…”

  “I know. I’ll miss you, Paul.”

  “And I’ll miss you. Maybe one day…”

  “Don’t say it,” Josette interrupted. “Let’s wait and see.”

  They walked slowly back to the pergola and sat on the garden chairs.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Josette said.

  “About Gaston? I don’t know. I’ve thought about it often, but I’ve never really come up with an answer.”

  “Try again.”

  “But why?”

  “Because when you’ve gone, I want us – Papa and Didier and me – to do more for the Resistance. Try to recruit again, become more organized. We’ve got lazy, even Papa. It’s because we think there’s nothing we can do. But we can. We must.”

  Paul considered his words before replying. “It won’t be easy, Josette. There hasn’t been much enthusiasm for the Resistance up until now.”

  “Then we have to change things. We have to be ready for the Germans when they come, and they will come, Paul.”

  “Maybe. But the trouble is…” He stopped, not wanting to spark another argument.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Come on, what were you going to say?”

  “You won’t like it.”

  “Well, now that you’re leaving, it doesn’t really matter, does it? Please, tell me.”

  Josette shivered and pulled up the collar of her jacket against the cold as Paul leaned closer. “I was going to say that the trouble is, from what I’ve seen, there are too many people in this part of France who haven’t decided whose side they’re on.”

  Paul was expecting a familiar explosion of outrage from Josette. It didn’t come.

  “I know,” she said softly. “They sit on the fence, waiting to see which way the war goes before making up their mind. They’re not thinking about what’s right, just about what’s right for them. It makes me ashamed, Paul.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t be too hard on them,” Paul said, surprised at Josette’s unusually subdued response. “Maybe it’s always been like this when one country invades another. Some people just want an easy life, no trouble. And not everyone wants to be a hero of the Resistance.”

  Josette’s fiery temper returned in an instant. “Well, I do! And I will be! And I’ll start by tracking down our enemies here. And that includes whoever killed Gaston Rouzard, and denied me the pleasure!”

  “That’s more like the Josette Mazet I know,” Paul said, smiling. “But it won’t be easy: we don’t have much to go on.”

  “But we do. We know Gaston and Yvette Bigou were working with the Andorrans who killed Jean-Pierre and almost killed us.”

  Paul nodded. “And we know they were doing it for money, not just because they wanted to destroy our Resistance group. And we know someone silenced Yvette because we’d discovered her involvement.”

  “Exactly,” Josette said, warming to the detective work. “But it wasn’t Gaston, because he was drunk in Chalabre that night. He didn’t get back to Lavelanet until the following morning, the day he was shot. Which means that someone else killed Yvette and then killed Gaston. But why?”

  “Because he was part of the operation, too, and was afraid that Gaston would give him away.”

  “Or her,” Josette said pointedly. “But the point is, we’re not just searching for a traitor, we’re after a murderer, a cold-blooded killer.” She thought for a moment, then peered through the gloom at Paul. “Or at least, I am.”

  They fell silent. Their feelings for each other had grown stronger in the months since Paul’s arrival but neither had ever quite managed to pu
t those feelings into words. One kiss was as far as their romance had gone, and that had been way back when Paul was about to leave for the first time. Since then, the kiss had never been mentioned and never been repeated. While in every other way they were strong and courageous, when it came to each other their courage seemed to desert them both.

  The night had darkened, clouds moving across the sky to block the starlight. Paul edged closer, making sure Josette could see his face as he spoke. “When I’ve gone, you will be careful, won’t you?”

  Josette answered in little more than a whisper. “I’ll be careful. But I will get him. Or her.” She stood up. “Let’s go in. I have a feeling tomorrow will be a busy day for us both.”

  They went to the back door and as Paul started to open it, Josette stopped him. He turned to look at her and she kissed him lightly on the lips.

  “Come back one day, Paul,” she said, then pulled open the door and went quickly inside.

  NINE

  Day Three

  Someone was knocking on the front door. Hammering, pounding, constant and heavy. A voice was shouting: “Open up! Open up!”

  For a few confused seconds, Paul thought he was dreaming, but then realized what was happening. They’d come for him. At the very last moment, just as he was about to escape to freedom, he was going to be arrested and taken in.

  It was too cruel: heartbreaking. In those agonizing seconds, he saw himself being dragged off and spirited away to Belgium or northern France to be interrogated, before suffering the same fate as his parents. But as his thoughts cleared, he swore to himself that he wouldn’t be taken without a fight. He leapt from his bed, dragged on his clothes and yanked open the bedroom door.

  The pounding on the front door grew even louder as Paul came face to face with a grim-faced Henri and a terrified-looking Hélène as they emerged from their bedroom. Then Josette came out of her room.

  “What’s happening?” Josette said, her eyes wide but defiant. “Who is it, what do we do?”