Beacon of Vengeance

by Patrick W O'Bryon

  The years had been productive, his “extraction commandos” diligently retrieving German and foreign traitors from within Vichy France, even Spain and Portugal. He ran them to ground and taught them a lesson before sending survivors back to Berlin for further interrogation and disposal. Brenner’s knowledge of French had been helpful at first, but Horst soon acquired sufficient language skills to operate on his own. He no longer missed Heydrich’s direct oversight in the Gestapo, having created his own independent operation which allowed him to pursue his personal interests.

  Horst remained still for a few minutes as another gunship just beyond the crashing surf plowed south. The boat’s shielded running lights disappeared beyond the rocky spit as it sought to outrun the approaching fog bank. He rose, finished off the Cognac and flung the empty bottle over the balcony to the terrace walkway three floors below. In the bathroom, his bare feet leaving bloody prints on the stone flooring, he removed suturing materials as he quietly hummed the old Nazi marching song to himself.

  Die Fahne hoch, die Reihen fest geschlossen…The flag held high, the ranks firmly closed...

  LE DÉNOUEMENT

  1941

  CHAPTER ONE

  Nantes, Occupied France

  23 August 1941

  The long night in the Nantes hotel had passed reasonably well. With only one bed, Ryan had expected banishment to the polished wooden floor. Instead and to his surprise, Nicole had rolled the spread into a barrier to divide the bed down the middle, warning him not to cross the demarcation line. While she was down the hall at the bathroom, he washed at the room sink and slipped beneath the sheet and cover, feeling stronger with every passing hour.

  Nicole returned and switched off the overhead light. Only a faint glow entered the window from the street below, but it was enough to awaken his interest. At the sink she stepped out of her dress and slip. Hanging her bra on a chair, she used a cloth to wash her face and underarms. Silhouetted against the mirror, the curve of her bare breast was enough to make him hard. She put on the slip again and combed out her hair.

  This will never work, he thought. He was still erect when the mattress shifted. She now lay beyond the barrier, close but very far, separated by an untold past which made him—made all men—her enemy. For over an hour he chased sleep, finally easing himself from the bed and going to the privacy of the hall bathroom to relieve his tension.

  The next day proved long and mind-numbing. Imprisoned in the hotel room, Ryan paced incessantly until an aggravated Nicole ordered him to sit. She had a late breakfast delivered to the room—bread, jam and butter, and a weak coffee made from actual beans with only a hint of roasted barley. At Ryan’s insistence, the management sent up recent magazines and several cheap novels, and mid-day cheese sandwiches arrived unbidden. Nicole went out from time to time to break the tedium, but without a reliable identity he was at the mercy of this time and place. In the early afternoon she returned to the room with three items: an envelope, a mesh shopping bag holding bread, salami, and wine, and a paper-wrapped bundle tied off with string. She reported his incriminating police identity had turned to ash in the alley next door and the badge had disappeared down a sewer drain.

  First she handed him the envelope received from a scowling Frédéric at the front desk. It had been opened. Tomorrow. Seven p.m. 28 rue de Graves. E. Ryan remembered the calling card found in the hymnal in Berlin, the start of this long and dangerous adventure, and recognized Erika’s neat script. “We’ve a rendezvous for tomorrow evening.” He smiled and showed her the note. “My friends at last.”

  “Another long day, then.” Nicole’s off-hand response revealed her thoughts were elsewhere.

  She untied the bundle and handed him a cleanly-ironed shirt, a red silk tie, and a tweed jacket free of elbow wear. “Can’t do a thing about the shoes—in short supply everywhere. The rest should fit reasonably well.”

  He smiled broadly. “What a nice surprise, thank you!”

  “And you might like these, as well.” She tossed him a new undershirt and boxers. “I’ll leave a couple of handkerchiefs on the dresser. Now go take a bath and get out of my hair for a while.”

  “Splendid suggestion.” He gathered up the clothing, noting that she had also improved her own wardrobe. A pale yellow dress now joined a few other items on the bed.

  “One more thing, monsieur.” She had yet to call him by his given name.

  He turned at the door. “Yes?”

  A small package flew across the room. “Do something with the hair.”

  Walking down the hall, he opened the package to find a razor, shaving soap, and a tin of pomade. A toothbrush and tooth powder were a further welcome find. Nicole appeared to have an unending supply of ration coupons and cash. He smiled to himself, unwilling to question where she had done her “shopping.”

  By nightfall he was fully recovered from his encounter with the rat. In the dark of the room he waited for her to return from down the hall. The strain of living in close proximity to such an attractive woman was affecting him, but her lack of interest had forced him to abandon all flirtation. He kept his frustrations to himself. But that didn’t prevent his hoping for another glimpse of her silhouette in the evening light. She didn’t return to the room before he drifted into sleep.

  Later he stirred as the mattress sagged. She slipped in beside him, her slender body cool against his skin. She was unclothed. As he began to speak she put a finger to his lips. “Silence!” Her voice trembled, and he wouldn’t disobey the command for fear she’d change her mind. She forced aside his hands as he reached to touch her, to caress her.

  “For me alone.” A troubled whisper, barely a breath. “Not for you.”

  He was hard, and she took him to her, moving with a fury borne of anger and frustration he couldn’t explain. For him, it was over too soon. At last she was spent, rolling off to the side, sobbing. He tried to comfort her, but she pushed him away and crawled across the bedspread barrier. Her back to him, she cried softly to herself.

  His heart reached out, seeking to share in her sorrow. He received nothing in response. The sexual encounter had saddened him. It hadn’t been love-making—there was no love there, just animal insistence and physical drive, a release without satisfaction. And still she sobbed. A lump rose in his throat, and he felt tears on his cheeks which he couldn’t really explain.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Nantes, Occupied France

  23 August 1941

  Rue de Graves, a narrow street bathed in silence. Two dark figures moved along at a steady pace, peering up at street numbers in the failing light, anxiously seeking number 28. A scrawny dog ran loose down the street, glancing furtively in passing, stopping to investigate a trash bin here, a lamppost there, marking each station of his journey with a lifted leg before moving on. Ten minutes to seven. Ten minutes to the reunion.

  Number 28. An innocuous tenement in a row of similar structures, all neglected due to Occupation fines on the citizenry. The entry door cried out for a fresh coat of paint. Attached to the peeling surface, another short note in Erika’s distinctive script—Apartment E. The bell handle turned repeatedly in his nervous hand, but no concierge appeared to let them in. Behind the thick blackout curtains the only sign of occupancy was a window two floors up and to the left, where a thin sliver of light lined the drapes. Someone did indeed await their arrival.

  Frustrated by the lack of response, Ryan tested and found the door unlocked. The concierge’s office was vacant, its door left open. The vestibule smelled of mold and dirty carpet. Before them rose a well-worn staircase, its bannister creaking in protest as they ascended the uneven treads. At the second landing they turned down the hallway lined by a threadbare runner. The door to Apartment E was slightly ajar, casting a slim bar of light into the dark corridor.

  He gave Nicole a quick glance before knocking. First came no response, then the door swung open to reveal Erika standing before them. She threw her arms around him, holding him tight and kissing him en
thusiastically. Nicole scanned the room beyond but said nothing. Ryan and Erika drew apart at last, their arms still entwined.

  She was breathless. “How on earth did you find us, Ryan? We thought you were dead! It’s been so long!”

  A lump in his throat. “And Leo?” His voice husky.

  “Healthy and safe in the country.”

  “René? Where’s René?”

  “Right behind you, old friend.” And he emerged from the darkness with that wonderful grin and an unexpected beard, and limping ever so slightly. René slid the pistol back in his belt and engulfed Ryan in a massive hug which lifted him from the floor. “Mein Gott, Alter, I think you’ve lost some weight!”

  “Tracking the three of you down has taken its toll on me.” Ryan threw an arm around Erika and squeezed her again, then hugged René once more before pushing him away to admire the beard. “Nicely grown, my friend. It suits you.”

  “And, with luck, hides my true identity.” René laughed and stroked the growth as he turned to Nicole. “I think I look like a pirate! And who keeps you company this evening, Ryan?”

  He felt strangely uncomfortable. During the day Nicole had made no mention of their nighttime encounter, so he had pretended things were unchanged. The intervening hours had been long and stressful. “Erika and René—this is Nicole, who recently rescued me from von Kredow’s clutches. We can trust her completely, and I can personally attest to her skill with a weapon.” He rubbed his neck as he glanced at Nicole with a grin—an inside joke the others missed and she ignored. Nicole offered her hand to each, nodding with a simple “bonsoir.”

  At the mention of von Kredow, Erika’s face had gone pale and René’s had darkened. “Horst? Then you’ve seen him?”

  “Yes, unfortunately. And up close. But that’s a long story and over now, thanks to Nicole.”

  “We must hear the story, and soon. But come in now—we’ve so much to discuss, my friends.” René gestured to sagging chairs, their velvet armrests smooth from years of wear. Erika sat on the burgundy sofa while René fetched a bottle and four small glasses from the sideboard.

  The loving look on Erika’s face as René stepped out of the darkness had not gone unnoticed. They were indeed now a couple, as he had suspected would be the case. After three years on the run together, it would be amazing had they not found each other.

  Ryan surveyed the room, neat despite its age and neglect. “A safe house?” He accepted a glass from René.

  “Our new group made it available for this rendezvous.” Erika poured the brandy. “So, a toast to old friends, and to your new friend who shares our common goals.” Ryan sensed a chill between the women on both sides. Trust would have to be built. He sipped the Cognac.

  René wanted answers. “But, come on Ryan, we’re dying to know—what brought you back after all these years, especially in such dangerous times?” Ryan acknowledged René’s squeeze of Erika’s hand with a smile of tacit approval.

  “And how in God’s name did you end up in Horst’s company?” Erika looked worried.

  He told of Heydrich, Horst and Kohl’s engineering of his espionage career from the very start. How a message purportedly from René had lured him to the internment camp at Gurs, only to fall into Horst’s clutches once again. And then he described Nicole’s roadside trap. “She saved us all from capture and a horrible death—Horst would have used me as bait to draw you in.”

  At the first mention of Horst, Erika had caught her breath. Now her eyes shot to René. “We must call Leo, and right away!” René put an arm around her and she shrugged it off. “René, he wants to finish what he started in Kehl, and he’s getting closer!” The color was gone from her cheeks and her hands trembled. “What if he knows about the farm at Morlanne?”

  “No worries, Erika, we were just on the phone with the boy a few days ago.” He grasped her shaking hands. “Leo’s happy and healthy in Mother’s care.”

  Ryan remembered the cultured older woman he’d met at the Gesslinger home in ‘38. “Your mother’s doing well?” He thought fleetingly of his own, so recently passed.

  “Yes, she’s doing fine, Ryan, and enjoying the country life in Gascony while looking after our Leo. Life on the constant run proved simply too exhausting.” René turned to Nicole. “So, mademoiselle, you set a trap for Horst von Kredow—the one known as le Masque. Your people must know where he headquarters, where he travels.”

  At first it appeared that Nicole wouldn’t answer. She stared at her hands and rubbed her ring finger, and then the words poured forth. “Everywhere and nowhere, monsieur. The phantom is seen, we hear stories of his cruelties, and then he disappears, only to appear at our backs just as we begin to feel safe. Vichy does his bidding, and his extraction commandos are terrifying. Imagine the worst of men, a malicious monster…a demon.” She stared through embers of hatred, her words filled with loathing. “No one truly escapes him, you know. He’s ruthless and patient and does exactly what he threatens. So we all fear, and he relentlessly uses that fear to make us all just like him…to destroy our souls.”

  Ryan hadn’t heard such a torrent of words from her since the outburst in Bayonne days earlier. But now Nicole withdrew again, distracted, fidgeting with the base of her finger as though she still wore a wedding band. The other three remained silent, deeply affected by the raw emotion and reflecting on the suffering each had endured at Horst’s hands.

  Finally René broke the awkward silence with a question for Ryan: “And you’ve come to help us?”

  “Any way I can.”

  “Can you bring America into this war? We could use the help.”

  “Let’s start with money. Tell me what you need and I’ll see what my people can do—” he added a caveat, “—although technically speaking, I’m supposed to be in Paris as soon as possible.” His tone suggested he didn’t really care about technicalities. “Do you already have plans for action here in Nantes?”

  Erika answered. “First priority is sabotaging the submarine pens under construction over in Saint-Nazaire. We’re going to put our René to work retarding their progress.” She squeezed René’s hand.

  “I’ll pose as a high-ranking naval engineer just in from Berlin. I’ll screw up the construction schedule, find fault with what’s already constructed so they have to rebuild, anything of that nature. And meanwhile get as much information to the Brits as we can. What do you think?”

  “Dangerous, of course, and I’ll bet that’s why you like it. Is your engineering knowledge credible enough?” Concern crossed Erika’s face.

  “Maurice, our local group leader, got his hands on a submarine tech manual and plans for the pens, and I’ll master it all quickly enough. He’s a great coach, an engineering professor with arms like a stevedore. The rest will be a breeze. Once a sailor, always a sailor, right?” René shot Erika a reassuring glance.

  His bravado didn’t amuse her. “Overconfidence can get you killed.”

  “As can doing nothing. Tell me, Ryan…do you have a good channel for relaying intelligence?”

  “What have you got for me?”

  “The precise location of military and naval installations along the Loire. A suspected training school for Reich spies near Saint-Nazaire. And, I’m told, a reliable map of industrial installations, all fundamental to wartime materiel production. Shipping schedules, as well.”

  “And all this is ready to go?”

  René nodded. “And yours, if you can get it to the right people. Our networks need coordination, and the couriers aren’t yet fully in place. Even wireless contact with London is sketchy. Getting this to the right people should please your handlers in Washington, and we won’t be disappointed if more English bombs start falling where they’re intended.”

  “What have the locals done so far?”

  “Not that much. Over thirty truckloads of new tires destroyed at the Hippodrome du Petit-Port last year. And, of course, a clandestine newssheet and handbills spread the word about the growing secret army. The B
oches have assigned local citizens to guard communication, water and power facilities, so we try sabotage, it endangers our own people. But it’s time to make a bigger impact, and with luck you Americans will soon step up.”

  Erika shook her head. “Impact, yes, but not by putting the hostages in Paris at risk, as some are willing to do. The two youngest hotheads here want to start assassinating local Occupation leaders and soldiers.”

  “Charming. When can we meet this new group of yours?”

  “Is tomorrow soon enough? Curfew in Nantes kicks in at nine, so we usually gather right after dinner to get home before the SS patrols come out. Speaking of patrols, what identity are you using? Besides our author Richard Dana, of course.”

  “Glad you asked. I do have a bit of a problem there. My most recent papers belonged to a policeman whom I left indisposed.”

  “No worries, old friend. I’ll have a young man at your hotel in the morning with his camera, and he promises documents by evening. Highest priority, highest quality.” René drained his glass.

  Erika handed Ryan a slip of paper. “Here’s the address for tomorrow evening.” A touch of her fingers—memories of past times, opportunities lost. “We gather at seven.” Her eyes shifted to the young woman. “Nicole, you’re welcome to join us, of course.”

  “We’ll see. About time I got back home.”

  René gave Ryan another crushing hug. “So pleased to see you again, my old friend!” Then Erika embraced Ryan and murmured their thanks for having found them again.

  “You’d have done the same for me, I know. And I look forward to hugging little Leo soon.”

  “Not so little anymore, and more precocious than ever.” She grinned conspiratorially. “He’s much like his father.” Ryan caught René acknowledging the inside joke. “Oh, and Ryan, perhaps you’d like this back?”

  He gratefully slipped the Florentine ring onto his finger. “That does feel better.” The sudden thought of the K-pill in the cuff of his trousers dampened his mood. Things were sure to get more dangerous, not less. He bent down to retrieve the tiny oval. “You’re familiar with these?”