“Logan!” she cried.
She ran to him and threw her arms around his wet and bruised body.
“So sorry to disappoint you, General, Mr. Channing,” said Logan, “but my comrades asked me to break in on your little victory party. We are—I’m sure you can understand—in somewhat of a hurry to be away from this dreary place.”
He paused long enough to bend over and kiss Allison lightly, keeping his eye on his prey.
“I was almost afraid something had gone wrong,” she said.
“The only thing that might have gone wrong is that I could have died of a heart attack standing there in front of those guns!” said Logan. “Why didn’t you let me know?”
“We couldn’t get word to you,” said Allison.
“So,” seethed Channing with mingled wrath and chagrin, “you knew of this all along! Now I understand your blasted calm!”
“Yes, Mr. Channing,” replied Allison. “And your recapturing me was just a decoy, with which you cooperated very nicely. You see, I had no heart to rob you of your one imaginary moment of success. But that, I am afraid, is all you will have.”
“Ha!” laughed Channing with scorn. “Do you actually think you can hurt me with your ridiculous little productions! Jason Channing cares nothing for such trivia! I am the ultimate victor. For I still possess the legendary Stonewycke treasure!”
A look of astonishment passed over both Logan and Allison’s faces at the words.
“Ha! ha! ha!” gloated Channing with perverse glee. “Surprised? Ha! ha! That idiot Sprague was worth all I paid him, and more, though the fool was so stupid he couldn’t even keep himself alive! You just tell your mother, little Miss Stonewycke, that I have her grandmother’s priceless Pict box, and that she’ll never lay eyes on it. Ha! ha! ha!”
As Channing spoke, already von Graff was thinking of self-preservation. He had inched his way toward a corner of the room, where a rifle sat propped against a wall.
“Not so fast, Monsieur General!” came a voice from the doorway. They turned to see a German soldier standing with rifle poised on von Graff.
Von Graff squinted in sheer confusion. Not only was the man with the drop on him too old, but he was uncommonly small. Yet the gun in his hands discouraged argument.
“You really ought to get to know your soldiers better,” said Logan to von Graff. “Perhaps then you could tell good Frenchmen from Boche!”
Von Graff jerked his head around toward the window. Outside, the eight supposed soldiers of the execution squad now held their weapons on the four or five real members of von Graff’s S.S. detail. The new prisoners were being prodded toward the guardroom.
“Good work, my dear,” said Henri to Allison. “Your elaborate plan appears to have come off with scarcely a hitch.”
“Her plan?” repeated an astonished Logan.
“Mais Oui, Michel,” said Henri with a twinkle in his eye. “Did you think all the savvy for intrigue in the family was yours? She refused to let us sit still for your imprisonment. “What you once told me is true: “The Lord has many ways to deliver His people.”
Logan laughed. “Ah, me fair lass. Ye done yer man prood!”
“Come,” said Henri, “it is time to be off!”
Clinging closely to one another, Allison supported Logan’s weary frame as they retreated out into the compound. Allison glanced back for one last glimpse of Channing. Unlike the defeated general, Channing’s eyes yet glowed with the embers of red-hot fire—sufficient even for a man of seventy to give proof that he would be back again.
As Logan emerged again into the open air, his eyes caught and held those of one of the captive German prisoners. Neumann returned his stare only momentarily, but long enough to say, “I wish you well, L’Escroc Macintyre.” And perhaps also in his eyes was the parting request, Pray for me sometimes, when I am brought to your mind.
But this meeting of minds lasted only an instant, and then was past. Henri tarried at the guardhouse until the contingent of Germans was locked securely inside with Channing and von Graff. Then he turned and trotted to where Logan and Jean Pierre were enjoying a more thorough and warm reunion.
“It’s not much of a story,” laughed the priest in response to Logan’s wondering inquiries.
“I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard your voice!”
“My brother took great pity on me,” went on Jean Pierre, “after my injury. So you see, your rescue attempt on the train was a success! He interceded on my behalf, and here I am! Perhaps there is hope for him, after all.”
“I never dreamed all of us would be together again except in eternity,” said Logan.
“I told you we would meet again,” laughed Jean Pierre.
“As did Henri,” added Logan. He paused and glanced around, suddenly aware that someone was missing.
“Where is Lise?” he asked.
“She realized this was not her moment, Michel,” said Henri. “But she asked me to tell you that she wishes you Godspeed.”
“Tell her the same when you see her, Henri. Tell her I will pray for her. And give her my thanks.”
“I will, mon ami,” said the bookseller. “Now . . . let us be off! That”—he cocked his head toward the locked guardroom—”won’t hold them for long.”
They ran toward the van they intended to use. Henri paused long enough to spray a round of bullets into the tires of the staff car and the other van.
Then the group of a dozen resistors scrambled into the remaining van. Henri slipped in behind the wheel, ground the vehicle into gear, spun it around, and sped through the gates.
77
Fait Almost Accompli
Logan sat back against the jarring wall of the careening vehicle. His body was ready to collapse from the onrush of unexpected events, yet despite the fatigue his mind remained keen.
“The telephone,” he said all at once, not knowing who other than Allison at his side could even hear him above the engine. “We should have cut the line to the guardroom.”
“Rotten oversight!” said Henri from the front. “And we are headed right past the main prison. They’re sure to be waiting for us.”
He slammed his foot on the brake in order to negotiate a U-turn and head in the opposite direction.
“Wait!” cried Logan. “Keep going! The last thing they’ll expect is for us to drive right past their backyard. They’ll figure us to be going south, away from the city, not back past the prison!”
Henri laughed as he pressed his foot back on the accelerator. “L’Escroc lives!” he cried. “We will dare it! Right past Fresnes!”
“We must breed a new L’Escroc to take your place,” said Jean Pierre.
“Monsieur L’Oiselet was not doing so bad a job before L’Escroc came,” said Logan. “And I have a feeling he will continue long after L’Escroc is but a passing memory.”
In another five minutes the prison came into view. Almost immediately the speeding van encountered several German vehicles roaring past them, all storming westward to Montrouge.
A great cheer went up inside the van.
“Our ploy will give us but a momentary advantage,” cautioned Henri. “We still have two stops to make. They will discover their error and overtake us before we know it.”
Before long the van drifted to a stop. The larger part of the group jumped out the back. Logan had not even noticed that they had changed out of their German uniforms, under which they had been wearing their normal French attire. “There’s a farmhouse just over that field,” explained Henri to Logan. “They’ll put our people up and get them safely back to the city.”
One by one the men ran around to Logan’s side of the vehicle, each shaking his hand warmly. He thanked them all, not without deep emotion. Then within moments they had retreated into the wood and the van pulled onto the road again. It now carried only Henri, Jean Pierre, Allison, and Logan.
“Next stop for you two . . . England!” shouted Jean Pierre. “And in case I do not have the opportunity to s
ay it later,” he added, “God’s blessings be upon you! I think of you often, and when I do, be assured that prayers of grateful remembrance will pass my lips!”
“Oh, Jean Pierre,” said Allison, “thank you! Thank you for helping take care of my Logan all this time. And you too, dear Henri! Thank you both so much for delivering him back safely to me! I will never forget you, dear friends!”
“Where are we going?” asked Logan.
“To an airstrip,” answered Allison before either of the Frenchmen could respond. “Actually, Henri says it’s hardly more than a smooth meadow.”
“But where? I never knew about any airstrip out here.”
“It’s rough, mon ami,” said Henri. “But all we could manage. It’s about thirty kilometers from here.”
“A plane is waiting for us,” added Allison.
Logan smiled.
“So, Mother Hen came through, after all!”
He glanced over at Allison. “You are really something!” he said. “How did you manage all this? Is it true, what Henri said back there, that this was your plan?” His pride was evident even as he asked the question.
“I didn’t do much really,” she answered. “I just kept prodding, and trying to figure something out, and asking Henri and Lise questions, until finally the whole thing started to unfold. Jean Pierre’s release was a big help, too!”
“Do not let her fool you, Michel,” put in Henri. “She lived up to every inch of your reputation!”
“I’m only sorry you had to stay behind bars so long! But we had to wait till word reached us they were moving you.”
“Are you kidding? It was worth every gray hair it may have caused to see von Graff’s and Channing’s faces! What a grand story it will make to tell your mother!”
“There was just one moment, when the guns went off, when for an instant I wondered if everything had come off. Those men firing the guns looked so German! I wasn’t sure our plan had succeeded until I saw you in the doorway. You were so brave—though I never doubted you would be.”
“’Twas naethin’, me lass!” grinned Logan, then closed his eyes and let his head rest on Allison’s shoulder. “I’m just glad to be alive—and with the woman I love.”
They drove on in relative silence for about ten or fifteen more minutes, Henri keeping to a conservative speed so as not to attract unwanted attention. Suddenly he groaned.
“I think we have company,” he said. From the rearview mirror he saw four vehicles bearing down upon them from behind, including what looked like a Gestapo staff car. They were about half a mile back.
“Hang on!” he cried, and pressed the accelerator to the floor. The van surged forward.
Gradually he lengthened the distance between them. Ahead lay the meadow.
“Here we go!” said Henri. “Grab whatever you can!”
He turned the steering wheel and the van careened off the pavement, smashing through a rickety wooden fence, and hardly slackening speed as they flew over the grass toward where the Lysander sat in the middle of the field, looking incongruous amidst stacks of hay from last year’s harvest.
The pilot saw them coming, realized they were being chased, and ignited his engines. The propellers of the small place whirred into motion.
A barrage of shots pinged off the sides of the van.
The distance was still too great for the bullets to hurt them unless they happened to hit either a window or a tire. The retiring bookseller at the wheel did not falter but kept his nerves steady as the van bounced and crashed over the uneven ground.
“How will you two get away?” shouted Logan. “We can’t just leave you here!”
“Not to worry!” replied Jean Pierre. “There’s a road we’ll catch on the other side of the meadow. All we’ll need is a hundred-meter lead. After a bend in the road, we’ll jump, the van will crash over a high embankment, and we’ll escape through the woods. When the Germans round the corner, all they’ll see is the van tumbling down over the side. By the time they’ve gone down to investigate and find no bodies, we’ll be halfway back to Paris. There’s a friendly farmhouse only about a kilometer from there through the forest. So you see, it’s all been arranged.”
Logan looked up. He could hear the Lysander’s roaring engines. Henri sped onto the runway, maintaining top speed until the very last moment. Then suddenly he slammed the van to a screeching halt.
In less than an instant he and Jean Pierre were outside and opening the doors to help Logan and Allison out.
Explosive bursts of gunfire sounded behind them.
“Hurry, mates!” yelled the pilot from the small plane. “If we take one of them slugs in the tank, we’re all goners!”
“Come with us!” said Logan.
“We can still be of use here,” said Henri.
“Look at him!” laughed Jean Pierre. “We couldn’t drag L’Oiselet out of France!”
In the distance, the German cars were wheeling recklessly across the meadow toward them. Out of every window leaned soldiers firing wildly.
“Go, dear friends!” said Henri.
“You too!” replied Logan. “Drive like the wind, Henri! I want to see you two after the war!”
Logan took several more seconds to throw this arms first around the bookseller, then around the priest—companions and friends he would never forget. With tears in her eyes, Allison gave them each a hurried hug.
Then, leaning on Allison for support, and hobbling as rapidly as Logan was able, they raced to the plane, while Henri and Jean Pierre scrambled back into the black van.
Hands reached down from the fuselage door, grabbed hold of Logan’s shoulders to hoist him inside. The plane was already moving when Allison jumped onto the small stairway and climbed up. The pilot closed the doors and thrust forward the controls and the plane taxied across the meadow.
Behind them sharp reports of gunfire vainly tried to stop the takeoff, but already the Lysander had picked up speed and was nearly out of range.
Logan pulled himself up to a window just as he felt the plane lift off the ground. Already the van with Henri and Jean Pierre was speeding toward the opposite side of the field and into a wood. The German cars had stopped momentarily, with soldiers pouring out to draw better aim on the ascending British plane.
Then Logan saw two figures emerge from the staff car.
He could not see the expressions on the faces of the general and the businessman as they watched their precious quarry wing out of firing range. But he could well imagine their fury and bitter dismay.
Then just as suddenly as they had stopped, the four vehicles filled again, and sped off across the meadow.
Logan slumped back in his seat, realizing all at once how weary he was. Gently Allison took his hand.
He glanced toward her, smiled, and let out a long breath. She too exhaled a long sigh of relief, as if to say, “Whew . . . we made it!”
“We’ll soon be home, Logan,” she said after a few moments.
“Home to Stonewycke,” he murmured drowsily. “I can hardly believe it.” He closed his eyes, and with visions of the beloved estate floating dreamily in his mind, he was soon fast asleep.
78
An Honorable End
Atkinson wore a particularly smug look on his face—almost an expression of fatherly pride.
But it was I, thought Kramer with his own vain grin plastered firmly on his countenance, who saw Macintyre’s potential right from the beginning. Though he had to admit, if only for honesty’s sake, that it was the major who had stuck up for Macintyre when the cards were down.
Not that he wouldn’t have himself, of course. But someone had to play the devil’s advocate.
Thus Kramer had wrangled the privilege of joining Atkinson to receive their Captain Logan Macintyre who had arrived from France a week ago. He had spent the ensuing days in a hospital recuperating from his brutal torture by the Nazis, but was now fit enough to be debriefed and to consider a lengthy leave.
“This is the bes
t part of the job,” commented Atkinson.
“Seeing one of your chicks safely home, eh, Mother Hen?”
“Exactly!” smiled the major. Then his eye grew momentarily introspective. “It doesn’t happen often enough,” he mused. “I pray they will all be coming home soon.”
“It won’t be long, what with the way our boys are beating the tar out of those Nazis now!”
“I wish I could be as optimistic as you,” said Atkinson. “But I think the Nazis have a few more tricks up their sleeve yet. I think we’re looking at years rather than months, Arnie.”
Kramer’s eyes gleamed and he leaned forward. “How would you like to put some money on that, Ray?”
Before Atkinson could respond, a knock at the door interrupted them.
Logan did look fit. At least better than he had a week ago when he had climbed out of the Lysander, taking his first step on British soil in over a year. As Logan now stood framed in the doorway, Atkinson suddenly realized it was the first time he had seen Macintyre in uniform. It made him look quite different. And though he wore the uniform of his country with a glow of pride, it looked rather incongruous on him.
But Atkinson could see that the changes in Logan went deeper than a mere uniform. He no longer wore that look of defensiveness about him. Whatever else had happened in France, there was no doubt in the major’s view that Logan Macintyre had found himself.
“Good morning, Captain Macintyre.”
“Good morning, sir,” replied Logan, shaking Atkinson’s extended hand, then turning to Kramer. “And to you also, Major Kramer.”
Kramer stepped buoyantly up to Logan.
“Forget that Major business!” He grabbed Logan’s hand and shook it vigorously, while slapping Logan’s shoulder with his free hand. “We’re all proud of you, Logan!”
Atkinson picked up a small box from his desk and held it out.
“This is for you, son.”
Logan opened the box and gazed down on the sparkling George Cross inside. He was too surprised, and humbled, to speak.
“You earned it, Logan,” said Atkinson.
Shadows over Stonewycke Page 50