Night of Flames

by Douglas W. Jacobson

  Leffard sat back in the leather chair and laughed, the first time Boeynants had heard him laugh in a long time. “Très bien, Willy, très bien.” With a knowing glance forged through a long friendship he picked up the coffee pitcher. “Would you like some more coffee?”

  “Non, I’d like some cognac.”

  Chapter 42

  IT WAS A WARMER DAY than normal for the middle of April, and the air inside the railcar was stale and humid. Anna sat next to the window looking absently at the passing countryside. A light rain ran down the glass in grimy brown streaks. The trains these days were dirty, smelly and usually crowded with people of all ages lugging suitcases and boxes stuffed with black market goods. Despite the growing danger from air raids, people still rode the trains. Automobiles were next to useless because of the lack of gasoline and, for the same reason, few buses operated. Unless you really had to get somewhere, the best thing to do was stay home.

  Anna knew that’s where she should be—home, looking after Justyn, instead of going off on another mission. But how could she say no when people like Jules van Acker asked for her help? Jules, Leon Marchal, Paul Delacroix and the others were all risking their lives and putting their families in danger for the war effort. She couldn’t stay curled up in her little cocoon in the woods.

  This time when van Acker asked if she would take on the mission, the reluctance he had displayed on the previous occasions was gone. He was all business, and Anna sensed that he had no problem asking and was certain she would do it. She felt good about that. She had finally been accepted as a partner in the struggle rather than someone who had to be looked after and protected.

  Anna felt more self-confident than she had been on her earlier missions. She understood the risk, but she also indulged in a small measure of exhilaration. Justyn had turned fifteen, and he was strong, well-behaved and had always shown a lot of common sense. It still bothered her to leave him, but she felt comfortable that he was in good hands with the Marchals. Besides, Leon could always use an extra hand on the farm, especially in spring, and Justyn was a hard worker.

  The train arrived at the station in Brussels two hours late, which was not bad by current standards. Anna took the tram to the north side of the city and got off at the stop van Acker had suggested. It turned out his directions were rather vague, and it took another half hour in the falling rain to find the address she had been given.

  The house was typical of the others in the neighborhood—narrow, three stories, built of brownish-red brick with a gray tile roof. There was a small plot of grass and a bush of some sort between the sidewalk and the front door. Anna pushed the buzzer and stood under her umbrella wondering what would unfold in the days ahead.

  The woman who opened the door was about sixty years old, with gray-streaked hair pulled back into a bun. She wore a simple blue dress and, despite the warm, humid weather, a gray sweater.

  “Bonjour, madame, I’m looking for Monsieur Coubertin,” Anna said, reciting what she had been instructed to say.

  “He is not at home at the moment; he has gone to the library,” the woman replied with the answer Anna expected. “You’re welcome to come in and wait, if you’d like.”

  The woman held the door open, and Anna closed her umbrella and stepped into the narrow entryway. The woman closed the door and extended her hand. “I am Claudia.”

  Anna shook her hand, surprised by the woman’s firm grip. “And I am Jeanne,” Anna said, using the name on her new passport, which identified her as “Jeanne Laurent” from Antwerp.

  “Claudia” showed her into the neat, modestly furnished parlor. Standing in front of the fireplace was a tall, good-looking man. He appeared to be in his early twenties with jet black hair parted down the middle and a neatly-trimmed black mustache. He wore a white shirt and gray slacks that were clean and freshly pressed but obviously several years old.

  The man stepped across the room and extended his hand. “So, you must be my escort—and quite an attractive one at that,” the man said in English, giving Anna a quick look up and down.

  Anna ignored his outstretched hand and glanced at Claudia. The woman just shook her head and left the room. Anna turned back to the young man. She was about to say something when he started in again.

  “So, when do we leave? I’ve been cooped up in this blasted place for a week now. Hope the war’s not over yet. I was just getting warmed up. Name’s Ryan Sinclair, Captain, RAF.”

  Anna looked into the man’s smiling face. “Well, Captain, that’s the last time I want to hear that name.”

  The young man looked surprised.

  He started to respond, but Anna interrupted him. “My name is Jeanne Laurent, and it’s my job to help get you out of this country without you getting yourself killed. Now, it’s my understanding you were given some documents that identify you as ‘Henri Eyskens,’ a Flemish engineer from the town of Mortsel, near Antwerp. Is that correct?”

  He smiled again. “Right, Mum…or Miss…Laurent is it? They’re here somewhere.”

  Anna took a step closer. “First of all, it’s Madame Laurent, and you’d better get those documents right now. We’ve got work to do.”

  His smile faded.

  “Begrijpt u het?” Anna said.

  He looked at her with a blank stare.

  “Begrijpt u het?” she repeated.

  The young man’s face turned red.

  Anna could see he was flustered. “Henri!” she snapped. “I’ve just asked, ‘do you understand?’ in Flemish. Haven’t you learned the Flemish phrases that you were told to commit to memory? Claudia has gone over that with you, hasn’t she?” Anna was certain she had.

  “Yes…yes,” he stammered. “I’m sorry…I’m afraid you took me by surprise, just then.”

  Anna took another step closer. Her voice was a whisper. “Being sorry isn’t good enough. Being sorry will get you killed! And worse yet, it will get me killed, and anyone else who’s trying to help you. Where we’re going, you’re not going to get any second chances.”

  “Blimey, you’re being bloody dramatic—”

  “We’re scheduled to leave in less than twenty-four hours. If you can’t convince me by that time that you’re Henri Eyskens from Mortsel, I’m not taking you anywhere.”

  His face was now very red.

  “Begrijpt u het?” she asked, sharply.

  He hesitated then nodded. “Ja, ja. Ik begrijpt het.”

  Anna turned away from him and walked out of the room.

  It turned out that Ryan Sinclair was actually very bright and a fast learner. The brash, cavalier attitude was still there, just under the surface, but Anna believed he had gotten the message. He had no difficulty mastering the Flemish that he was required to memorize and was able to communicate the pertinent facts about his new identity.

  His problem was learning to keep quiet and, whenever Anna wasn’t specifically drilling him on his Flemish and his new identity, he chatted away, telling stories and asking questions. Under normal circumstances, Anna would have considered him to be just another self-absorbed, but otherwise harmless, young man. She had some reservations, but he seemed to have a lot of self-confidence and that certainly counted for something. Among his other qualities, Ryan Sinclair could sound very sincere, even charming, when he tried. Anna guessed he was quite something with the ladies back in London.

  They left on schedule, taking the tram to the Brussels Nord station to catch the train for Paris. A policeman stood behind the railway conductor, looking over the crowd of travelers, as Anna and Ryan waited in the queue on the platform. When they handed their tickets and passports to the conductor, the policeman glanced over the conductor’s shoulder then looked away without comment. The conductor punched their tickets, and they boarded the train.

  The car was practically full, but Anna found two seats facing each other next to a window. Ryan found a spot for their bags in the overhead rack, and they squeezed past the passengers sitting in the aisle seats and settled in.


  Anna noticed Ryan studying the other passengers and, as she had done on her other missions, tried to imagine what it must be like for the young aviator. Everyone around him was speaking French, a language he couldn’t understand. He was a combatant in enemy territory with no means to defend himself, and his survival was dependent on a person he had met just twenty-four hours ago. If he were asked any questions, he would have to respond in a convincing manner using another language that was foreign to him.

  She glanced at Ryan again and was surprised to see a smile on his face. To her annoyance, he even winked at her. He appeared to be enjoying this.

  The incident occurred halfway between Lille and Paris. It was the middle of the night, and a French conductor had replaced the Belgian at Lille. The stubby little man, wearing a dark blue uniform, entered the car from the front and made his way down the aisle, checking tickets and passports. Anna was relieved to see that he was working alone, and there were no German soldiers with him. Many of the passengers were asleep and had placed their tickets and passports in the little clip at the corner of their seats.

  When the conductor got to their row, he examined the tickets and passports of the two persons sitting in the aisle seats who both appeared to be sleeping. He punched the tickets and replaced the documents in the clips. Ryan was also asleep, his head leaning against the window, and Anna held both sets of documents. She handed them to the conductor who took them and nodded.

  As she leaned forward, her knee brushed against Ryan’s, and he woke with a start.

  “Huh…wha’…” he mumbled, dazedly looking.

  Anna gripped his knee to caution him before he said anything else. He grunted, then followed her eyes to the conductor.

  The conductor punched the tickets and handed the documents back.

  “Merci,” Anna said.

  “Dank U,” Ryan said.

  The aviator’s response caught Anna by surprise, but she didn’t react.

  The conductor nodded and moved on.

  Ryan faced the rear of the car, and he continued to watch the conductor as the man moved on through the rows.

  Several minutes later, Anna heard the rush of air as the door of the car opened and the conductor left. On these missions, every encounter with officials was stressful for her, and she had just relaxed a little when Ryan abruptly leaned forward and whispered in English, “How’d I do, Mum? Pass the test?”

  Anna was so startled, she couldn’t respond. She stared at him in disbelief. He had that arrogant smile again, as if he had just won a game of chess. Anna frowned and flicked her hand at him, hoping he’d get the message and shut up.

  Ryan shrugged and leaned back against the window, closing his eyes.

  Anna took a deep breath, dropping her eyes to the magazine on her lap. She waited a moment, then stole a glance at the heavyset man in the seat next to Ryan. The man was still in the same position he had been in before, turned slightly toward the window with his head resting on the back of the seat.

  But his eyes were open.

  Several minutes passed. Anna wanted to steal another glance at the man to see if he had fallen back to sleep but didn’t dare.

  The heavyset man grunted, then coughed, and a second later he lifted his bulk out of the seat and stood up. He coughed again and headed for the rear of the car.

  Anna’s heart was in her throat. Had he overheard Ryan’s comment? She tried to keep calm. Most likely the man had heard something but, coming out of a sleep, he probably didn’t recognize it as English. Even if he had, what would it matter to him? Unless he was a collaborator and wanted to cause trouble. But what were the chances of that? Don’t imagine the worst, Anna thought. Most likely the man had just gone back to use the toilet.

  By the time he returned Anna was worried. He had been gone a long time. She thumbed through the magazine as the man slumped heavily into the seat. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him reach under the seat and pull out a folded newspaper, which he opened and began to read.

  A half hour later the door at the rear of the car opened and closed. Anna didn’t turn around, but she could feel the footsteps of the conductor coming up the aisle behind her. It’s nothing, she told herself, perfectly normal. Thankfully, Ryan was asleep, or doing a very good job of pretending.

  The conductor paused at their row. His eyes met Anna’s and he smiled, then moved on.

  Anna watched him as moved up the aisle. He didn’t stop at any of the other rows, just exited the front of the car. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, wondering if she was paranoid.

  The sun was up when they pulled into Paris’s Gare du Nord. Ryan pulled their bags down from the rack and they made their way out of the car. When Anna stepped onto the platform she noticed the stubby little conductor standing next to their car. Was it a coincidence? The man had to be standing somewhere, she told herself as they followed the crowd into the terminal.

  The plan was exactly the same as it had been on her other missions. Ryan went into the toilet while she walked to the newsstand and purchased a magazine. She headed for a bench to observe the crowd while pretending to read.

  It was after seven o’clock and the station was busy. Anna didn’t notice as many German tourists as she had on her last mission, but several groups of Wehrmacht soldiers trudged through the station heading to the platforms, all carrying large duffel bags. With the talk of an invasion coming soon, it didn’t really surprise her. As expected, the Parisian civilians gave the soldiers a wide berth as they stomped through.

  Anna was about to sit down when she spotted the conductor from their train again. He was on the far side of the terminal, talking with a policeman and two Feldgendarmes. She watched them for a few seconds then glanced toward the toilet just in time to see Ryan disappear inside. Damn it all. Maybe she and Ryan should have walked directly out of the terminal. But that wasn’t the plan. That wasn’t what she had been instructed to do.

  She noticed the policeman nod his head and say something as the conductor looked at his watch and walked away, heading back to the platforms. The policeman and the two Feldgendarmes talked among themselves for another minute, then split up and moved off.

  Anna stood next to the bench, holding her magazine but not even pretending to read it. Straining to see through the throng of people moving through the terminal, she tried to follow the movements of the three uniformed men. The Feldgendarmes had separated, each heading for one of the terminal’s two exits. The policeman walked slowly through the cavernous building. She kept losing sight of him in the crowd.

  Anna’s heart beat so hard, she was sure it would burst. She spotted Ryan as he emerged from the toilet, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world. As she had instructed him, he paused and lit a cigarette, gazing in her direction.

  Anna nervously checked out the exits. The Feldgendarmes had taken up positions next to each of the massive doorways and appeared to be watching the people leaving. She cursed under her breath. How could this have happened? Was it really all because of a few whispered words in English from a naive young man? She admonished herself for dwelling on it. This was no time for mind games. She had to make a decision, right now.

  Hoping Ryan would remember the signal, Anna dropped the magazine on the bench, reached into her bag and pulled out a blue silk scarf. Trying to act nonchalant, but certain she wasn’t succeeding, she put the scarf on her head, tied it under her chin and began moving through the crowd, toward the platforms.

  Anna tried to spot the policeman so she could keep out of his way but she had lost him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ryan hesitate for a second then bend down and open his bag. He pulled out a gray felt hat, put it on his head and followed her. Donning the headgear wasn’t much of a disguise, but the Comet Line operatives had told her that, in a crowded building, it was sometimes just enough to make a difference. It didn’t do much to bolster her confidence.

  As she pushed through the crowd, Anna went over the back-up plan. Her instructions were t
o use the alternate set of tickets and travel on to Le Havre. She stopped under the schedule display board and looked up at it. Ryan came alongside of her.

  He leaned over as if to speak but Anna stepped on his foot, hard. She found the listing for the train to Le Havre. It was leaving in forty minutes. She glanced at Ryan and motioned for him to follow, hoping that he knew better than to ask questions.

  Chapter 43

  LEON MARCHAL WAS REPAIRING a wheel on his hay wagon when he heard the sound of an automobile coming down the road. So few people drove cars these days, it always caught his attention when he heard one. He looked up as Jules van Acker’s battered Citroen pulled into the farmyard and stopped just behind the wagon.

  Marchal knew it must be important for van Acker to use precious gasoline driving out here. He wiped his hands on a rag and walked over to the car. Marchal always marveled at how the rotund man managed to fit into such a small vehicle.

  “I just received the call,” van Acker said. “The action at the rail siding is on for tomorrow night.”

  Marchal nodded. “It’s about time.” He glanced at his watch. It was almost noon. “Would you like to stay and have lunch?”

  “I’ve got to get back to the shop,” van Acker replied. “Do you want to use the truck? I could get it for you again.”

  “Non, the wagons will be less conspicuous. We’ll leave in the morning and have plenty of time.”

  “You’ll contact me when it’s over?”

  “Oui, oui, bien sûr.”

  Van Acker turned the car around and drove off.

  The next morning Marchal drove the horse-drawn wagon out of the farmyard with Gaston next to him and Jean-Claude riding in the back. Paul Delacroix drove the second wagon, with Richard sitting beside him and Henri Delacroix riding in the back with Franc.

  Buried beneath a load of hay in each wagon were canvas backpacks filled with weapons, packages of plastique, reels of wire and boxes of detonators. As he headed the wagon onto the dirt road, Marchal turned and waved at Luk and Justyn who were standing on the porch. He knew how badly they wanted to go along.