‘Money!’ Constance said. ‘You will have to pay.’
‘Haven’t I always paid?’
‘But you cannot leave the house. They will be looking for you everywhere.’
‘That is not a problem. I will give you a note so that you, or one of your girls, can go to Gruchy’s and see the manager, Monsieur Brissard. He is our paymaster, and he will hand over the money on my instructions.’
‘We are all going to be hanged,’ Constance muttered.
‘Not as long as we all keep our heads,’ Liane told her, with more confidence than she felt.
*
Oskar Weber did not like Paris, mainly because he did not like the French. This afternoon he thought it the most disgusting place on earth. ‘I would like you to repeat that,’ he said, his voice ominously quiet.
‘It was a routine matter, Herr Weber,’ Kluck explained, his voice a mixture of irritation and apprehension. This man had no superior rank, yet he was the deputy — and actual — head of the security service, and more importantly, he was a close personal friend of Heydrich’s. ‘On the instructions we received from Berlin, we —’ he glanced at Roess, standing impassively beside his desk — ‘began a street-by-street search of the Montmartre area for the woman de Gruchy, investigating all the places she is known to have frequented before the war. These searches were carried out by a squad of four men, under a lieutenant. They had been proceeding for several days, without any sign of the woman, until the day before yesterday they visited the bar owned by Achille Custace. We do not know what actually happened there, but …’
‘I presume these men were armed?’
‘Of course they were armed,’ Kluck snapped, even more irritated at the absurdity of the question.
‘So you are saying that four armed German soldiers and an officer entered this bar and were shot and stabbed to death. How many people lived in this bar?’
‘As far as we know, only this man Achille Custace, the owner. And his mistress.’
‘And none of the neighbours heard the sounds of this battle? Your report says nine shots were fired.’
‘It was only five in the morning, Herr Weber, and, well, the people have become accustomed to minding their own business.’
Weber looked at the report again. ‘The bodies were not discovered until ten. Why is this?’
‘Well, no one knew where they were. It was remarked that they were late returning to barracks, but it was supposed there was some reasonable explanation. No one could imagine that they had all been killed. This man Custace must be a devil incarnate.’
‘Or his mistress is,’ Roess said quietly.
Weber turned his head. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Five men have been killed, Herr Weber, with absolute cold-blooded ruthlessness, following which the assassins left the scene, apparently with utter calmness. I remember, just about a year ago, that a Gestapo officer was killed, again with cold-blooded ruthlessness. That assassin was Liane de Gruchy. On instructions from you, Herr Weber, these men were looking for Liane de Gruchy. I believe they found her.’
‘My God!’ Kluck muttered.
Weber was inclined to feel the same way. ‘How many people know of what happened?’
‘Well, the regiment, of course. And the neighbours will have seen the ambulances and our people searching the bar …’
‘Very good. First, the name of Liane de Gruchy must not be mentioned in this matter.’ Both policemen raised their eyebrows. ‘This woman is already a heroine to the French people,’ Weber said. ‘We do not want to turn her into a legend as well. Our people were massacred in an ambush organized by French Resistance fighters, who will be exterminated. Understood?’ They nodded. ‘Secondly, if it was known that Custace was living with his mistress, there must be people around who have seen this mistress.’
‘Of course. There is Custace’s sister, for a start. The one who found the bodies.’
‘Would you mind saying that again. Custace’s sister found the bodies?’
‘Yes. She went to the bar, where she helps out, at ten in the morning to prepare for opening at eleven. The door was unlocked, so she went in, and when she did not see her brother, she went upstairs.’
‘Well, that is something. Bring her to me.’
‘She is not here.’
‘Kluck, are you saying that this woman is not in custody?’
‘Well, she had nothing to do with what happened.’
‘God give me patience. She is Custace’s sister, you say. She works in the bar, you say.’
‘But we are sure she had nothing to do with the killing. She was horrified by what she found. She ran into the street in hysterics.’
‘Kluck,’ Weber said, with great and obvious patience. ‘She knows who Custace’s mistress is. She will be able to describe her. I want her arrested and brought here, now. And God help you if she has also managed to get away.’
While he waited, Weber telephoned Berlin to put Heydrich in the picture. ‘This is quite unacceptable,’ the general said.
‘I agree with you entirely. May I remind you that it was your decision to leave the matter in the hands of the Gestapo?’
‘I am aware of that, Oskar. Kluck will have to go. I should have listened to you long ago. Tell him he is sacked and should return to Berlin. We will put him behind a desk somewhere. Promote Roess to colonel and give him the local command. Tell him that if we do not get results he will go the same way.’
‘I will do that. However, although we will do all we can to keep the details secret, and especially the identity of de Gruchy, the business itself is already widely known. Five German soldiers have been murdered by this so-called Resistance. Everyone will be privately exultant, even if they dare not be so in public.’
‘I understand this. They will be not so happy when we bring Custace and de Gruchy to justice.’
‘As they have vanished into thin air, that may take a little while. And all that while other hotheads will be dreaming of doing something similar. That would be very bad for morale.’
‘Certainly. But there is not a lot we can do about it.’
‘I would like your authority to take hostages.’
‘You think that will bring de Gruchy in?’
‘Probably not. But if she does not come in at a stated time, we will shoot them. Ten men for each of ours killed, and ten men for any more acts of terrorism that may occur.’
‘Hm. Yes. I think that might be very productive. However, there will undoubtedly be protests from people like the Americans and the Vatican. I will have to obtain clearance. Put the idea on hold and I will come back to you.’
Weber replaced the receiver, listened to a knock on the door. ‘Come.’
Kluck entered. ‘We have the Custace girl.’
‘Excellent. Bring her in. By the way, Kluck, you are relieved of your duties.’
‘Me? You have no authority to do that, Herr Weber.’
‘I am acting on the authority of General Heydrich, with whom I have just spoken. You are to return to Berlin immediately, and report to Gestapo headquarters for re-assignment. Roess, you are promoted to colonel, and will take over command of the Paris station.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Roess could not resist a triumphant glance at Kluck, who was speechless.
‘Now,’ Weber said. ‘Let us have a look at this woman. Not you, Kluck. You had better be on your way.’ The colonel looked as if he wanted to protest, then changed his mind and left the office. In his place two Gestapo officers pushed Jacqueline into the room. She was clearly terrified, was having trouble with her breathing. ‘Good morning,’ Weber said. ‘You are Mademoiselle Custace?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, sit down.’ Jacqueline sank into a chair. The two guards stood behind her; Weber stood before her. ‘What is your given name?’
‘Jacqueline.’ She spoke in a whisper.
‘What a pretty name, for a pretty girl. How old are you, Jacqueline?’
‘I am sixteen, sir.’
<
br /> ‘So all of your life is in front of you. Isn’t that exciting? But I understand that you have had a horrifying experience.’
‘It was terrible. All those bodies …’
‘Murdered by your brother.’
‘Oh …’ Jacqueline bit her lip.
‘You don’t think your brother could have done such a thing?’
‘Achille is such a gentle man.’
‘I am sure he is. But somebody shot and then stabbed those soldiers. Do you think it was his mistress?’
‘Sandrine? But she is so … so …’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, sir, she is such a lady. She doesn’t look it; her clothes are poor, but everything about her, the way she moves, the way she talks, the way she eats her food, shows that she is a lady.’
‘Yet she is your brother’s mistress. Do you not find that strange?’
‘Well, I think they knew each other before the war.’
‘Ah. Now, describe her to me.’
‘Well …’ Jacqueline licked her lips. ‘She is medium height, with a good figure, very pretty.’
‘What colour hair?’
‘Black.’
‘And eyes?’
‘Blue.’
‘That is a strange combination, is it not? Now tell me where they will have gone.’
‘I do not know, sir.’
‘I am sure you do, Jacqueline. Or you have an idea. Tell me your idea.’
‘I do not know, sir. If they are not in the bar, well … I do not know where they could have gone.’
‘But they have friends, surely.’
‘My brother has no close friends, sir. Only the people who come to the bar.’
‘You are Achille’s only sister, is that right? And your parents are dead. So you are his closest living relative.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And you are trying to say that you do not know where he will have fled? That you have no idea?’
‘I …’ Another quick circle of her lips.
Weber put his face close to hers. ‘Jacqueline, if you do not tell me where they are, I am going to be angry. And when I am angry I hurt people. Do you want me to hurt you?’
Jacqueline’s lips trembled. ‘Please don’t hurt me, sir. I don’t know where they have gone. I swear it.’
Weber straightened. ‘You have a room?’
‘Of course,’ Roess said.
‘Let us go there. Have my equipment taken down.’ Weber snapped his fingers, and the two guards grasped Jacqueline’s arms and lifted her from the chair. Tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘Please, sir, are you going to hurt me?’
‘Yes,’ Weber said. ‘I am going to hurt you very much, unless you tell me what I wish to know.’
‘But I don’t know,’ she wailed.
‘Shut her up,’ Weber said. One of the guards swung his fist and struck Jacqueline in the stomach. She gasped and almost choked, continued to pant as she was forced to stumble down the stairs, past inquisitive eyes, and into the cellar. She shivered and wept as she panted, blinked at Roess, who was already there, with two other men.
Weber closed the door, and looked around the room. It was a typical, to his mind primitive, Gestapo torture chamber; on the walls hung an array of whips and irons, an iron frame leaned beside them, and in the centre of the room there was an interrogation stool, bolted to the floor, a single narrow seat only a foot high, with a back rising another two feet. Around it, set into the floor, were several iron rings. There was also a table against one wall on which there was a gramophone and also a large square box with a lid. ‘Strip her,’ Weber commanded.
Jacqueline panted and tugged on her arms, but she was helpless as the men tore her dress and petticoat into strips, then pulled off her drawers and stockings, threw her shoes into a corner.
Weber was aware of that peculiarly exultant surge of sexual fury that always overtook him when about to torture a woman. How he dreamed of having Joanna Jonsson in this position. Or better yet, Liane de Gruchy, a woman he had never seen outside of a poor photograph, but who, simply because of her reputation, he desired more than any other woman in the world. For the moment, this girl would have to do. She was not beautiful. She was not even handsome, although she might become so, given the chance. But right now, with her long straight black hair, her small breasts and narrow hips, her thin buttocks and slender legs, she could only be described as piquant. Yet still enjoyable. ‘Put her on the stool,’ he said. ‘Stretch her.’ The guards made Jacqueline sit on the stool; she no longer attempted to resist them. They pulled her arms behind her and to their widest extent and secured them to the appropriate rings. ‘Legs up, but spread,’ Weber commanded.
Jacqueline’s legs were pushed up until her thighs almost touched her breasts, and then pulled apart, her ankles also secured to the appropriate rings so that she was utterly exposed, and unable to move more than her head. Roess watched with interest. ‘We usually flog them first,’ he remarked. ‘In fact, it is seldom necessary to do more.’
‘And they are reduced to gibbering wrecks. You should come up to date, Colonel.’ Weber touched the box on the table. ‘This allows you to apply as much pain as you think necessary, and to end it at the flick of a switch. It leaves no mark, yet is so intense as to be irresistible. And it is so interesting to use.’ He opened the box, took out an inner case, which was a good foot square and six inches deep. From it extended three cables, one ending in a plug, the other two in alligator clips. Attached to one side there was a small handle, such as that used on a telephone. ‘Socket.’ One of the guards plugged the machine in.
‘Now, we begin softly.’ Weber lifted the box from the table and laid it on the floor behind Jacqueline. He extended one of the leads and clipped it to the forefinger of her hand and then did the same to the other. Then he knelt on one knee beside her head; she was again panting and rolling her eyes. ‘When I crank my machine,’ he explained, ‘electricity will run from one finger to the other. It will travel up your left arm, across your shoulders, and down your right arm to the negative pole. It will feel exactly as if your skin is being opened by a sharp knife the whole way. And if that does not persuade you to tell us what we require, I shall then attach the clips to your toes. Then the charge will run up one leg, through your groin, and down the other. If that does not work, I shall attach the clips to your tits. That is very exciting. And if that doesn’t work, I shall put one clip up your ass and the other into your vagina. That is the most exciting of all. Do you understand me?’
Jacqueline panted. ‘Please …’
‘So why do you not save yourself a lot of agony and tell me where your brother and his woman may have gone?’
‘I do not know, sir. I swear I do not know.’
Weber moved behind her. ‘Put on the gramophone.’ Roess cranked that machine, and a moment later Wagner filled the room. Weber then cranked his own device.
*
Joanna paced up and down her hotel room. Never had she felt so frustrated. She kept telling herself to keep calm, but it was now over a week since she had seen Joachim, and he had not come to confirm that the message had been sent, and even longer than that since she had asked Sven for help. As far as her getting out of Germany was concerned, she knew the regime well enough to be sure that if they intended to keep her here, they would, no matter what representations might be made. There remained of course the American embassy, but she was still inclined to keep that as a last resort. But the message …
She came to a decision, left the hotel and went to Joachim’s lodging house. This was a weekday, and she did not suppose he would be home, but she might be able to find out where he worked. As usual, the street door was open, and as before her entry was overseen from the downstairs apartment. ‘You,’ said the man. ‘You have the nerve to return here?’
‘Do my nerves have anything to do with you?’ Joanna asked. ‘Is Joachim here?’
‘Are you pretending you don’t know?’
‘Don’t know what?�
� She kept her voice even, but suddenly she felt sick.
‘Joachim is dead. He died the day of your last visit.’
‘Oh, Jesus!’ she muttered. ‘How?’
‘Your friends came to see him, and he died. No one knows how.’
‘My friends?’
The man stared at her. ‘You should go away,’ he said. ‘We do not wish you here.’ He stepped back into his flat and closed the door.
Joanna wanted to bang on the door and get him back out, but she didn’t suppose she would get much more information, and she didn’t wish to create a disturbance which might involve the police. But what to do? Her ‘friends’ could only have been the Gestapo. Poor Joachim. But the important point was that her message had not been sent. Had he told his interrogators about it before he died? If he had, they would surely have arrested her by now. So they couldn’t know why she had visited him, only that as a result of that visit he had killed himself. But the message! It was now more than two weeks since that woman Christine von Ulstein had been able to report. Two weeks in which the Germans had known Liane was in Paris and why. Two weeks in which she had been in deadly danger. Equally, the projected attack on St Valery had to be only days away. With the Germans waiting for it!
But there could be no doubt that in addition to tapping her phone, the Gestapo were also tailing her. Waiting for sufficient proof to arrest her? Or waiting for her to betray another British agent? She felt quite flushed with heat although her hands were cold as she hurried back to the hotel. One thing was for sure: the bastards were not going to beat her. She telephoned the Swedish embassy first, and not very hopefully. Correctly. ‘Joanna!’ the ambassador said. ‘I should have called you before, but I have been rather busy.’
‘Can I get out?’
‘Ah! I had a word with Ribbentrop, who promised to look into it, and as a matter of fact he had me in two days ago. He told me that it was not considered safe for you to leave Berlin right now. He said it would only be a matter of another couple of weeks; then you would be free to go wherever you pleased.’
‘And you accepted that?’
‘Well, he is a difficult man. You know how he looks at you with those cold fish eyes of his. And frankly … You haven’t been doing anything stupid, have you?’
The Game of Treachery Page 13