by Robbie, Vic
Through the car’s open door, she saw the key still in the ignition and she rose carefully to her feet, waving like a pine tree in the wind. If only it would start, she could drive back to Fort-de-France and maybe raise help to find Ben, although she wondered what she could do to rescue him from the Nazis. There was no way of telling how seriously damaged her car was. Any number of problems could prevent it from moving, but she refused to think about it. She turned the key, praying it would spark into life.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
Again.
It coughed and spluttered and the engine turned over for a couple of revolutions before dying. She slammed a hand down hard on the dashboard and swore at it. Again, she jerked at the key and it whimpered into life, making a noise like gravel being dragged over piano wires. And her heart fluttered. This time it stayed and with every second it became stronger although an ominous black cloud of smoke was belching out of the back.
She had no idea how long the drive to town took or what route she followed. All she could remember was it passed in a blur to a soundtrack of blaring horns, screeching tyres and angry shouts. By the time she reached Fort-de-France, her head was hurting even more. She feared she was about to pass out, and she vomited down the front of her dress although she didn’t realise it until she felt its wetness. Whatever else, during the journey she devised a plan that must work. Desperation perhaps, but it was the only one that might save Ben.
The girls at Alphonse’s house were surprised. Someone banged on the door as though being chased by the hounds of hell and when they opened it a woman with sick all down her front fell into the hallway.
‘What’s the commotion about?’ Natalie parted her colleagues to get a better look. She knelt down by the injured woman and gently turned her head, realising it was Ben’s driver. If anything had happened to Ben, it could affect all their plans.
Fifteen minutes later, Ronnie awoke to find she was lying on a chaise longue with Natalie dabbing her forehead with a cold towel.
‘You’re back, chérie.’ Natalie smiled as her eyes flickered around the room. ‘You’re safe here; you’re amongst friends.’
‘Where, where am I?’ she asked, disoriented. ‘I don’t remember–’
‘What’s happened to Ben?’
‘Ben?’ The memory gradually formed in her head and her eyes opened wide as she trembled. ‘He’s in great danger.’
‘What happened?’ Natalie pressed her.
She recounted her story, or as much of it as she could, with Natalie encouraging her as she softly caressed her brow.
The Nazis had taken him and Natalie realised he wouldn’t last long at the hands of his interrogators. She had seen too many of those who’d endured interrogation. Poor souls, now shells, terrified of shadows, and listening to their own voices as though fearing what they might divulge. Time was not on their side. She laid aside the towel and took Ronnie by the shoulders. ‘Where are they holding him?’
‘It’ll be Fort Desaix, but it’s hopeless.’ And her bottom lip trembled. ‘Once people go in there, they never come out.’
‘You came to us for help?’
‘Yes, yes,’ her face brightened as she recalled her plan. ‘Maybe you’re the only one who can save Ben.’
Natalie looked puzzled. ‘How?’
Her eyes widened. ‘You know the General.’
‘I’ve made his acquaintance.’
‘You’re close to him.’ Ronnie emphasised and was surprised to see Natalie blush as she felt the gaze of the other girls on her.
‘Yes, I know him, but how can I help?’
‘You could speak to him. Tell him Ben isn’t any danger to them. I’m sure he’d listen to you.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Please, you don’t know it, but Ben is a good man. If you can get the Nazis to release him, I’d look after him.’
‘Perhaps I could.’ Natalie smiled.
‘Thank you, thank you,’ she said and embraced her. ‘If you can, I’ll be forever in your debt.’
Natalie stood up and ran a hand down over her dress. She had to move fast for both Ben’s and her sake.
Ronnie swung her legs off the chaise longue and staggered to her feet. ‘I’m coming with you.’
42
They left Ben alone in the cell for some time and he wondered if this was part of the psychology of torture. He had no way of telling the time as his watch had smashed in the crash and he was becoming disoriented. The longer you waited to receive the pain, the greater you imagined the suffering. He heard footsteps outside in the stone corridor, a key turning in the lock, and the door squeaking open. Accompanied by two others, Horst came in wearing a lop-sided smile like a diner who has survived a bad meal and was looking forward to desert.
‘Get on with it.’ He instructed his men to handcuff Ben to his seat and, turning to his prisoner, said: ‘It is of no concern to me, but you could save yourself a lot of pain by telling us what you know.’
‘You’re wasting your time,’ Ben said.
‘Still bullshitting, eh?’
Horst slapped his face, almost a playful blow not intended to cause damage, but it made his teeth rattle. From a sheath attached to his belt, the Nazi extracted a long hunting knife with a wicked blade and ran a finger along it, testing its sharpness, and licked his lips at the thought of what it could do. He stepped back and studied him.
Put him in a smock and give him a paintbrush, Ben thought, and he might have been a portrait painter surveying his latest subject, wondering how to reproduce his sitter’s best features. Only in this case instead of creating something, he wanted to destroy it. ‘If you’re trimming your nails, be careful. It looks sharp.’
‘Still an arschloch.’ Horst moved towards him, the knife poised, before a rattling of the door stopped him in his tracks. He glanced at it, irritated that someone would interrupt his work.
The Major entered and looked around the room as Horst and his two men clicked to attention. ‘Put it away, you’ll have to find something else to amuse yourself,’ he said with obvious distaste. ‘There’s been a change of plan.’
‘Herr Major–’
‘You are wasting your time. From what we can tell, he knows nothing. He may have been planted on this island, but he is just a small cog in a very big wheel.’
Horst decided not to argue and replaced his knife in its sheath. ‘Are you releasing him?’
‘No, of course not.’ Braune looked exasperated. ‘We must not have any complications.’
‘What do you want me to do with him?’
‘Simple, really,’ Braune said, running a hand across the wall, gauging its texture. He hated the Gestapo more than he despised the General and it pleased him he could deprive them of doing what they liked most, hurting people. ‘We are at war and you know what we should do with spies.’
‘Of course, Herr Major.’ Horst drew himself up and gave the salute, struggling to hide his disappointment. ‘I will put it into operation immediately.’
‘Very well,’ Braune snapped.
Horst barked an order at his men, who shuffled out of the room, and came over to Ben. ‘Come with me,’ he said, releasing him from his handcuffs. ‘This is your lucky day. I am ordered to treat you as an officer and a gentleman.’
He followed Horst along a maze of corridors before they stepped outside into a courtyard flooded with sharp sunlight that forced him to close his eyes. The granite walls on three sides closed it off from the rest of the Fort, and it was covered in gravel that crunched under their feet as they traversed it. Halfway across, Horst stopped with a genuine smile on his narrow face. ‘Cigarette?’ He opened a small tin box full of irregular handmade cigarettes and offered him one.
Although he didn’t smoke, he took one and felt a twinge of gratitude. He knew what was about to happen. He put the cigarette between his lips, and the German lit it for him and then stepped backwards surveying his act of tradition. ‘Please, follow me,
’ he ordered.
Small round holes pockmarked the surface of the wall at the far side, and Horst’s henchmen, who had followed them over, placed him in front of it. Ben’s hands were pulled in front of him before he was handcuffed again. Through the door, another German emerged, carrying six rifles, followed by another six Nazis to whom he handed each a firearm. They marched to the centre of the square but didn’t face Ben. A soldier came over, carrying a French Lebel 8mm revolver – similar to the one Bernay had given Ben when he left Paris – and handed it to Horst, who let it dangle from the fingers of his right hand. One of Horst’s henchmen stepped up and placed a blindfold over Ben’s eyes and tied it behind his head. Another pinned a small red ribbon to his chest.
‘Don’t–’ Ben attempted to get the words out, but the cigarette impeded his speech and when he tried to spit it out it stuck to his top lip.
Without sight, his other senses were enhanced and he smelt the smoke of the cigarette, feeling it burning his nose, and heard the Nazis nervously shuffling their feet. Everything was going too fast, slipping away like sand in a timer and he realised his life and everything he had worked for ended here. There wouldn’t be any more tomorrows. He wanted to shout stop, maybe just a pause, to catch his breath, to let him take stock. This is a mistake. You’ve got the wrong person. I can tell you who it is. But the words refused to come out. Then, a calm settled on him, and he could hear the soldiers breathing. Otherwise, there was not a sound, not a bird singing or even a breeze rustling the leaves of a tree.
The order in German broke the silence.
‘Squad, attention.’
‘Get ready.’
‘Take aim…’
43
The guards at Fort Desaix’s main gate were not being helpful. They would have liked to accommodate the attractive woman and her friend in the little yellow car, but what she wanted was impossible. Her demand to see von Bayerstein was crazy, and neither had the guts to allow her in or even to call through to his office. It was her desperate and wide-eyed stare, giving her the look of irrationality bordering on madness, that convinced them.
‘Please, I have to see the General immediately,’ she pleaded after getting out of the car and approaching the sentry hut. ‘It’s vital, many lives could be at stake.’
One of the guards thought it better to humour her and tried to place an arm around her shoulder, but she pushed him away. ‘Sorry, mam’selle. We can’t let you through. If we did, our lives wouldn’t be worth living.’ And he laughed nervously.
‘I must, you idiot.’
They looked at each other. If she persisted, they were going to lose their tempers. ‘Leave your name and telephone number, if you have one, and we’ll see the General’s office gets it.’
‘No, I must see him now.’
The senior guard felt his patience slipping away. The carbine he’d been holding in one hand was now clutched tighter in two. ‘If you don’t go away now, we’ll call the gendarmes and they’ll put you in the cells until you cool off.’
Natalie sighed and stepped forward and hit the guard on the bridge of his nose, drawing blood. He staggered more in surprise than hurt, holding his nose, while the other guard grabbed her and pulled her towards him, twisting her arm up her back. ‘We tried to be reasonable, now you’re in trouble.’
Ronnie opened her car door and made to get out and the guard raised his carbine and warned: ‘Get back in and drive away or I’ll open fire.’
They grabbed an arm each and frog-marched Natalie, with her feet barely touching the ground, up a long path towards the Fort before entering a courtyard bounded by the main walls of the Fort. The guard’s fingers were biting into her arm and she spat in his face and steeled herself for a violent reaction. Instead, he just gathered himself, growled gutturally, and spat straight back at her. Unsure whether to progress, the guards halted. Before them, people were crowded into the courtyard and it was deathly quiet. Six Nazis were lined up facing a lone man, who was blindfolded and stood with his back to the wall. And they had their rifles trained on him.
Natalie knew it was Ben and she heard the officer’s voice, cool and unhurried. ‘Take aim.’
Her guards were distracted by blundering into an execution and relaxed their grip on her. She shrieked and pulled away from them and, sprinting between the rifles and their target, she waved her arms in the air. ‘No, no.’ And then louder. ‘Stop, you can’t do this. Stop.’
Uncertain what to do, some of the Nazis in the execution squad lowered their rifles and looked towards the Major, who stepped forward, shouting: ‘Hold your fire.’
Her arms outstretched, Natalie stood before them shielding Ben.
‘You are either a very brave woman,’ the Major said, pushing aside the remaining rifles still aimed at him, ‘or stupid.’
‘I want to see Otto. I must see him. You can’t kill this man.’
Braune merely shrugged. ‘The General gave orders he should be executed, and it would take a very brave man to countermand those orders. I am afraid I am not that man.’ Although he appeared to reconsider, adding: ‘I suppose you are in a unique position to speak to him.’
‘I have very important information for the General and when I tell him, he’ll want to talk to this man.’
Still blindfolded, Ben could hear what was happening but wondered if someone would break ranks and shoot him anyway. The Major glanced at him and then back at the firing squad and dragged a boot in the dirt. ‘Tell me what this is all about.’
‘No,’ she persisted. ‘I must tell him in person. It concerns his safety and your whole operation on the island.’
Exasperation flooded across the Major’s face. He headed the General’s security on the island and he should be the first to know of any threat to his superior and be the one informing him. But he also realised the woman’s special relationship superseded that.
‘Very well,’ he conceded. ‘You must both come with me. If he refuses to see you, I will continue with this man’s execution and deal with you in due course.’
44
As they entered his office, von Bayerstein rose from behind his desk and took both of Natalie’s hands in his, kissed her on both cheeks, and led her to a chair. Ben was left standing, a guard either side of him, and Horst lurked in a far corner, observing everything.
‘You look troubled, please tell me why you needed to see me so urgently.’
The last-minute reprieve from the firing squad set off a chain reaction in Ben’s metabolism as though his skin was rippling out of control and he realised, despite Natalie’s intervention, nothing would change for him and soon he would be back down in the courtyard with his back to the wall.
The General stood as he waited for Natalie to compose herself, and he reached across his desk and flipped open a silver cigarette box. He extracted one of his Black Russian cigarettes, lit it, inhaled and exhaled expansively, watching the smoke spiral up into the vaulted ceiling. ‘Well?’
Ben detected a note of impatience creeping into the German’s voice.
Natalie cleared her throat and clutched her purse in her lap in front of her. ‘This man,’ she gestured at Ben without looking at him as if he were of no consequence, ‘is not the one you’re after.’
‘Really?’ Von Bayerstein resumed his seat behind his desk. ‘And what makes you think we were after him?’
‘You were about to shoot him.’ She glanced quickly at Horst, who kept watch impassively.
The look on the General’s face suggested it was a commonplace occurrence. ‘Do you know him?’
‘No,’ she said softly.
‘But you met him the other night at the club.’
‘By accident.’
Von Bayerstein nodded as if recalling it. ‘And that was the only time you have met him?’
‘Of course,’ she said almost too quickly.
‘I see.’ He steepled his fingers over his stomach and studied the ceiling. ‘That is not the important information you wanted to give me,’
he added with an emphasis on ‘important’.
She re-crossed her legs and bent forward in her chair, and her composure impressed Ben. ‘The Americans are planning some sort of action on the island–’
He threw back his head and chuckled and the others joined in. ‘I am grateful to you for this information. Do you think we do not know what the Americans are up to? We have people in Washington and New York. There is nothing the Americans can do that will surprise us. They would like to do many things, but their President’s hands are tied. He dare not take direct action against us for fear of involving his country in the war. A war they know they will lose.’ He stood up and flicked the remains of his cigarette into an ashtray fashioned from a seashell and came and sat on the desk facing her. ‘How do you know this?’
‘From people at the club,’ she stammered and a frown ran across her face, but her eyes remained focused.
‘Go on.’
‘Those loud Americans at the club are not what they seem.’
‘Tell me more.’
‘They’re part of a reconnaissance group.’
‘I see.’
‘And they’re responsible for the disappearance of your two men.’
Von Bayerstein flashed a questioning look at the Major and the officer returned it with a shake of his head.
‘For a dancer, you seem to know a lot about what the Americans are supposedly going to do.’
‘At the club you get to hear a lot of things,’ she smiled. ‘Although I know not everything is necessarily true.’
‘And just how did you know we had this particular American in custody?’
‘His driver, Ronnie, came to me and asked for my help.’
Ben gasped, relief flooding out of him, and the others glared at him. Ronnie had survived the crash and now all he wanted was for her to distance herself from him and get out of harm’s way.
‘Interesting she came to you, don’t you think?’ The General stared at her, working out the chain of events. ‘So you thought you would come to the Fort to save him.’