The Collaborators

by Reginald Hill

  The phone went dead.

  Mai sat unmoving for several minutes.

  Then he picked up the receiver once more.

  Ten minutes later he was in the office of his Abwehr chief.

  ‘This had better be important, Captain Mai.’

  ‘I think it is, sir,’ he said producing the paper Boucher had passed him. ‘One of my agents, a woman, she’s always been most reliable in the past, well she’s just come through with information about a high-level Resistance council meeting this afternoon. I’ve got everything - timing, location, security, escape routes, the lot. This could be a real coup for us, sir. And for free! All my agent wants in payment is…’

  Half an hour after this he was at the Hôtel Majestic. Always go to the top.

  He got two copies of the release order. One he delivered personally to Gestapo HQ with a request that they expedite the release. The other he despatched to his Abwehr counterpart in Lyon. His final act was to attempt to get a direct connection with the Administrator at Montluc, but this proved impossible and he had to be content with talking to Bruch once more.

  ‘Well done. I’ll get round there as soon as it arrives,’ the captain promised.

  Mai put down the phone and slumped back in his chair. He felt exhausted. It wasn’t surprising. This had all started at nine-thirty that morning. It was now about three. He hadn’t stopped to eat or drink or even smoke a pipe in that time.

  But he hadn’t finished yet.

  As he stood up, the phone rang. It was the chief.

  ‘Mai, that intelligence you got.’

  ‘Sir. Nothing wrong, I hope.’

  ‘No, it’s all fine. The trouble is, the SD have it already. They got a hint somehow we were setting up an operation and rang to request us to hold off.’

  Request. Mai could tell from the bitterness in the other’s voice what kind of request it had been.

  ‘I’m so sorry, sir,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know…’

  ‘Of course not. How could you? Not your fault. I sometimes wonder…’

  What he sometimes wondered he decided to keep to himself. With a brusque goodbye, he signed off.

  Mai sighed with relief. If for one moment the man had suspected how he’d been manipulated…

  But there were still tracks to be smoothed over before he could feel safe.

  And best of all there was the good news to pass on!

  When he reached the bakery, however, his heart sank with disappointment. The shutters were up and there was a Closed sign on the door.

  Disconsolately he rapped on the glass. After a couple of minutes he was just turning away when the blind twitched. Next thing it had flown up like a startled bird and he saw Janine pulling at bolts and twisting at keys in her desperate haste to open the door.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she was demanding even before he’d got across the doorstep. ‘Is there news? Please, please.’

  ‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ he said. ‘They’re alive and well.’

  ‘Oh thank God,’ she said, swaying forward into his arms. ‘Thank God.’

  He held her for a moment then she broke away and taking his hand pulled him from the open doorway into the living quarters behind the shop.

  ‘Please, please, tell me everything,’ she begged.

  ‘Are you alone?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said impatiently. ‘There’s no flour, nothing, so maman and papa have gone to visit some friends. Please, tell me!’

  He told her what he knew, what he’d done.

  ‘And they’ll let them go, you’re sure?’ she demanded.

  ‘Absolutely,’ he said, with more confidence than he felt. With the Gestapo, who could be sure? But he knew he could do no more.

  ‘Oh thank you. Thank you,’ she said. She was aglow with relief, with joy. He could have sat and simply watched her for the rest of the day. But there were still things to do and, in any case, any moment now she would be wanting to rush off to share her joy with Simonian.

  He said rather brusquely, ‘One more thing. To get this release, I’ve had to make out you’re one of my top agents. Well, you know that already. Only this time, I had to claim you’d given me details of an important terrorist meeting. It would be useful to have this supported by written evidence in your file. I’ve jotted down the details.’

  He handed her his jottings and a blank sheet of paper.

  She said, ‘You want me to copy this and sign it.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And that will help the children?’

  ‘The children’s release is already on the way. This will help me in the not unlikely event that the Gestapo decide to check my files again.’

  ‘So it’s just to help you?’

  He thought he was being accused of selfishness and said sharply, ‘Yes, but if you don’t want to copy it, I’ll understand.’

  ‘No, no,’ she said shaking her head, taking up the pen he’d given her and beginning to scribble. ‘But tell me, why didn’t you bring this to me first? Wouldn’t that have been the clever thing, to make sure you had your cover-up fixed in advance?’

  ‘The release form was the important thing,’ he said. ‘Time might be of the essence.’

  She scrawled her name at the bottom of the sheet and blew on it to dry the ink. When she passed it over to him, he folded it without looking at it, thrust it into his tunic and stood up.

  ‘Are you going?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. You’ll want to tell your husband. What will you tell him by the way?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘The truth perhaps. Anyone can stay pure by hiding from dilemmas, can’t they?’

  ‘I’d avoid the truth,’ he said uneasily. ‘Can’t you give Miche the credit for fiding out the children are alive?’

  ‘OK, I’ll tell him that. When I can find him. And if it happens he’s not too busy.’

  Her bitterness was unmistakable.

  Mai said, ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Why?’ She rose now and stood before him, studying him curiously. ‘You said in the Tuileries Garden that you loved me.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I didn’t know what to believe. Now you’ve put yourself at risk again for me, and only thought later of how you’d cover yourself.’

  He tried to turn away, thinking he couldn’t stand much more of this, but she caught at his arm and pulled him back to face her. Now she stepped so close to him that he could feel her warmth though they were not actually touching.

  ‘I don’t want a reward!’ he cried.

  ‘Don’t you?’ she said. ‘That’s your affair. What I want is to be held by a man who loves me and puts that before everything.’

  Her face was raised to his. And now they were touching. ‘Janine,’ he said.

  ‘No words,’ she said. ‘No nationalities. No deals, no rewards. Just love.’

  5

  Christian Valois struck the table so hard that a glass fell off it and only Jean-Paul’s instant reflexes prevented it from hitting the ground.

  ‘Calm down,’ he said, replacing the glass. ‘You’ll get us arrested for creating a disturbance and then neither of us will get to the meeting.’

  They were sitting outside a café on the Avenue d’Italie. Christian’s fury was caused because during what he’d thought was a last-minute briefing before an important meeting at which he was Les Pêcheurs’ accredited representative, Jean-Paul had casually announced he was coming along as well.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he demanded. ‘Don’t you think I can argue our point of view?’

  ‘Better than me, probably,’ said Simonian. ‘Only, I’ve got things to say which I have to say myself.’

  ‘They’re only expecting one. They won’t want two,’ argued Valois. ‘It’s not democratic, it’s not good security.’

  ‘All right. Then I’ll go by myself,’ said Simonian equably. ‘You stay here and drink a bottle of this terrible stuff they call wine.’

  Christian thought, then shook
his head.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m the delegate.’

  ‘So you are. The delegate of Les Pêcheurs. But I’m Le Pêcheur himself, Christian, never forget that. When you joined, I told you what I tell everyone. What I say goes!’

  The friends locked gazes.

  ‘Janine’s right. You have changed,’ said Valois looking away.

  ‘You too, Christian. And everyone else. Right, shall we go?’

  ‘It’s not for an hour. We’ll be early.’

  ‘Then perhaps we’ll arrive at the same time as the Gestapo if they happen to be coming!’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, this is no joking matter,’ snapped Valois. ‘There’s always danger, especially if people start changing the arrangements.’

  Simonian looked at his friend curiously.

  ‘Don’t let it get to you, Christian,’ he said. ‘I’ve noticed you showing the strain a bit lately. Look. I’m sorry I’ve upset you, but I really do think I should attend this one. And we’ll take extra care, I promise.’

  And in fact so cautious was the approach mapped out by Simonian that they needed almost the full hour even though the house where the meeting was being held was only ten minutes’ walk from the café.

  As they entered the shadowy hallway, a man confronted them with his hand in his coat pocket. Hastily Christian gave the password.

  ‘There’s only supposed to be one of you,’ said the man.

  ‘Now there’s two,’ said Simonian.

  ‘He’s our group leader,’ said Christian.

  ‘The Fisherman? Well, I suppose that’ll be all right.’

  ‘Kind of you,’ said Simonian.

  They climbed to the second floor. It was the waiting-room of a dentist’s surgery. This was the cover in case of accidental interruption. The dentist and a ‘patient’, both Resistants, would be in the surgery next door.

  The last representative arrived on the stroke of three and the meeting got under way. Below in the hallway, the guard smoked a home-made cigarette and tried to identify the wide variety of tobaccos from which it had been constructed. It only lasted as long as a slow fuse. Outside in the breeze it would have been more like a fast fuse, he consoled himself, peering through the peephole he’d poked through the curtain. He was wondering whether to light another awful fag when he saw a couple walking along the pavement, the woman with a piece of towel held against her mouth, the man with his arm around her shoulders, talking sympathetically, encouragingly.

  ‘Shit,’ said the guard as they paused uncertainly. Deciding that positive action was best, he opened the door and made as if to step out. Then, glancing at the woman, he said, ‘Not looking for the dentist, I hope? He’s away. All shut up. Won’t be back for a week.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ said the man. ‘It’s just about killing her. Is there another dentist round here?’

  ‘Well,’ said the guard, ‘I’ve seen a sign, but whether there’s anyone still working there. If you go down the street, take the first left…’

  He turned to point and gesticulate. Something hard rammed into his spine.

  ‘Keep quiet,’ hissed the man.

  He said in as loud a voice as he dared, ‘Now what’s all…’

  The woman hit him with amazing strength in the belly so that he doubled up, belching his words out as he was forced back through the doorway. He was dimly aware now she’d dropped the towel that the woman needed a shave. He was also aware that at least two more men had slipped into the hall.

  ‘Let’s go,’ said one in German.

  They went quiet as snakes up the stairs.

  Some instinct for danger made Simonian begin to rise a single second before the door burst open and the armed men rushed in crying, ‘Gestapo! No one move!’ He stared at them like a cornered animal, his body tensed to leap. But Christian cried, ‘Jean-Paul, no!’ and, grabbing his arm, pulled him back down. The Resistant nearest the surgery door suddenly made a dive for it. No one offered to fire at him, but he stopped as though hit on the threshold. The dentist and the ‘patient’ were crouched on the floor with their hands on their heads and three more armed men stood behind them.

  ‘Let’s get them downstairs,’ said the group’s leader. He seized Christian by the collar and hurled him towards the door where one of the others spun him on to the landing and pushed him down the stairs. He almost fell, only just managing to keep his balance, but his uncontrolled impetus carried him into the hallway with such force that the Gestapo man at the bottom had to jump aside, tripping over the guard’s recumbent figure as he did so.

  Valois didn’t stop but flung himself out of the street door. A car was coming to a halt just outside. He turned and ran in the direction it had come from. The passenger door opened and the man seated there got out without haste, drawing a pistol from his pocket. But before he could aim, he screamed with pain as another figure rocketed out of the house and crashed the car door against his legs.

  It was Jean-Paul.

  Christian had reached a corner. He glanced back to check on pursuit as he rounded it. For the first time he became aware that Jean-Paul was behind him.

  And behind Jean-Paul two - no, three - of the German raiders were bringing up their guns.

  Christian screamed, ‘Jean-Paul! No!’

  The guns fired. A rackety volley like an old motorbike trying to start. Ten yards from the corner, Jean-Paul threw up his arms. But he kept coming, his heart pumping blood to desperate straining muscles, three yards, two, and he flung himself into Christian’s arms like a runner breasting the tape.

  The heart still pumped madly and Valois felt the blood spurting out against his hands which he clasped around his friend’s back.

  Jean-Paul turned his face up to him like a lover seeking a kiss.

  ‘Tell Janine…’ he said but could manage no more, and the hot orgasmic spurts against Christian’s fingers died to nothing as the body became dead weight in his arms.

  He looked back towards the house. The gun men were still standing there, guns outstretched, as though frozen in a movie frame. Then the reel jerked into life again and they came running towards him, shouting.

  Gently he laid Jean-Paul Simonian on the pavement. The face looked young again and the scar of his head wound from that hopeless battle back in 1940 was almost invisible.

  The Gestapo men were closing fast. Christian reached inside his jacket and pulled out an automatic pistol. The Germans seemed nonplussed to find him armed and standing his ground, and he had killed the first two before the third managed to get a retaliatory shot in. It ripped along Christian’s left shoulder, but his right arm remained steady as he shot the man through the head.

  Now there were more men in the street, running, firing. He dropped his gun into the gutter, clutched at his wounded shoulder, turned and ran.

  He had no conscious idea of where he was going but he knew where he had to go, so it was no surprise when he started taking notice of his surroundings again to find himself approaching the Crozier Boulangerie. It was a surprise, however, when his eye caught his watch to see that it was not yet four o’clock. Less than an hour had passed since he and Jean-Paul had entered the dentist’s house an eternity ago.

  The shop door was open. He walked in and through to the back. There was no one there, but he thought he heard a noise above, so he went to the foot of the stairs and called, ‘Janine.’

  There was silence but it was the silence of listening.

  ‘Janine!’ he called again. ‘For God’s sake!’

  A door opened and she appeared at the head of the stairs. She had pulled a cotton wrap about her body and was tying it at the waist. Her hair was loose and trailed like sun-bleached silk over her shoulders.

  ‘Christian. What is it? I was asleep.’

  He pushed himself away from the wall as his swimming mind sought the words to convey his terrible news.

  Janine let out a cry of horror and he realized that his palm had left a bloody imprint on the wall.

  ‘You’
re hurt,’ she said starting down the stairs towards him.

  But her cry had reached other ears. Through pain-filled eyes Christian saw another figure appear behind her on the landing. His first thought as he recognized the uniform was that he had been followed here. Then his eyes and his mind cleared and he recognized the man buttoning up his grey tunic as the stocky Abwehr officer who was always hanging round the bakery.

  Janine reached him. He swung his good arm with all his strength and struck her backhanded across the mouth.

  ‘Bitch!’ he cried, as she fell back on the stairs, her lips bloody.

  Mai started to descend, shouting angrily, his hand plucking his gun from its holster, but Janine half-rose to block his way.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, what’s happened?’ she asked thickly.

  ‘Jean-Paul’s dead,’ said Valois with vicious clarity. ‘Our meeting was raided. They shot him down in the street. Your lovers slaughtered him in the street!’

  Then with one last despairing, contemptuous look at the stricken woman, he turned and staggered out of the house.

  Mai put his hands on Janine’s shoulders and turned her towards him, flinching away from her accusing gaze.

  ‘I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know,’ he said urgently.

  She shook her head in disbelief and mouthed but could not articulate the words, ‘Go! Just go.’

  He had no resources for dealing with this, he, Günter Mai, Captain of Military Intelligence, master of agents, manipulator of men. He could find nothing to do but fasten his buttons and put on his cap and sneak away like any squalid philanderer caught in an act of betrayal.

  Betrayal of whom? he asked himself that night as he drank alone in his room. There had been betrayal, that was true, but not that which Janine accused him of. There had been a wanted man, a terrorist who had been involved in the murder of many Germans, standing wounded and unarmed within easy reach of him, and he had done nothing. That was betrayal, surely?

  He was drinking brandy by the tumblerful, but drunkenness was a long time coming and at eleven o’clock he had a telephone call which put it completely beyond reach.