The Game of Treachery

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘And it really works?’

  ‘I guarantee that we’ll hit the beach within a hundred yards of where we want to be.’ James scratched his head, but he didn’t really doubt it. Lewis was about the most confident man he had ever met; it was reassuring to suppose that every officer in the Royal Navy was, by training and experience, similarly endowed. ‘Fifteen miles.’ Lewis opened the door. ‘Have your men standing by, Captain.’

  ‘Right away, sir,’ replied Captain Cooper.

  ‘You’ll be going ashore?’ Lewis asked James.

  ‘That is my intention.’

  ‘Very good. We’ll have to stop short of the beach itself, so you’ll have to wade. But we’ll be waiting for you.’

  James nodded, took off his cap and put on his steel helmet, again peered into the darkness … which was suddenly illuminated by a star shell, fired to hover immediately above the three little ships. ‘What the shit …?’ Lewis shouted.

  ‘MTBs to port,’ the helmsman snapped.

  The outside of the three vessels had also seen the approaching little warships, and now she altered course violently, forcing the two other fishing boats to do the same. ‘What now?’ James asked, lumps of lead gathering in his stomach.

  Lewis grabbed the radio microphone. ‘Abort,’ he said. ‘Return to base.’

  ‘But the French!’ James protested.

  ‘It can only be the French who have betrayed us,’ Lewis snapped. ‘I must save what I can.’

  But it was by now academic. The MTBs had opened fire, after sending up more star shells to illuminate the night. One of the fishing vessels was already sinking. Now a shell ploughed into the flagship, forward, bringing shrieks of agony and despair.

  ‘We’re going down,’ shouted the helmsman.

  ‘Then you’ll have to make the beach,’ Lewis told him. ‘Can you swim?’ he asked James.

  ‘Some.’

  ‘Well, your Mae West should keep you afloat.’

  ‘And on the beach?’

  ‘I wish you luck.’

  Machine-gun bullets were still slashing into the hull, and the bows of the fishing boat were dipping under; the surviving Commandos were already in the water. James could see lights ahead of him now; he did not suppose they were in any way indicative of help or support, but they at least suggested that the land was not very far away. He looked back at Lewis, who had taken the helm himself and was trying to control the sinking ship, and felt a sudden numbness in his leg. Oh, shit, he thought, and fell over the side into the surprisingly cold water, remembering the destroyer in which he had been evacuated from Dunkirk disappearing beneath his feet; the sea and I do not agree.

  *

  Pierre looked at his watch. He could not believe the operation had gone so smoothly. Every one of his thirty-man squad had arrived at the rendezvous on time and in perfect shape — and he had had serious doubts as to the reliability of the Communists. ‘Five minutes,’ he told Henri. ‘Pass the word. And remember, we stick together, for greater firepower. Equally, when we destroy the power station, we withdraw, together, regardless of what the Brits may be doing.’

  ‘Understood.’ Henri crawled away to speak with the various section commanders. Pierre checked his watch again, counting the seconds. The Commandos must be very near the beach by now. But as he had been a soldier all of his adult life, he knew that precision and timing was everything in an operation like this. Two minutes. Henri had returned. ‘They are ready.’

  ‘Then —’ Pierre watched the star shell arcing over the sea beyond the town. ‘What the shit …?’

  ‘They are signalling us.’

  ‘That was not in the plan! Listen!’ The sound of firing was clearly discernible across the stillness of the night.

  ‘They must have landed already,’ Henri said. ‘So much for their schedule.’

  ‘They have not landed,’ Pierre said. ‘They are being destroyed.’

  Henri gulped. ‘Can we not help them? It is time for our attack.’

  ‘It is a trap,’ Pierre said. ‘Get the men out. Tell them to scatter and return to Vichy as best they can.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Do it. I am placing you in command. Go, go, go. Leave me Jules.’ Henri hesitated, then crawled away. Pierre stared at the town, which was now a blaze of searchlights sweeping the approach roads, the low hills surrounding the town, and the beaches, turning the night into day. Had that star shell been fired two minutes later, his entire squad would have been caught in those lights and cut to pieces.

  Jules arrived beside him. ‘We have been betrayed. The fucking British …’

  ‘I do not think it was the British, as such. They would hardly sacrifice their own men to destroy us.’

  ‘Then who?’

  ‘There is a traitor somewhere; that is certain. Let’s move.’

  ‘Behind the others?’

  ‘Down to the beach.’

  ‘With respect, Monsieur de Gruchy, that beach is going to be crawling with Nazis.’

  ‘That is why they will not be expecting us.’

  ‘But what can we do?’

  ‘We came here to help the Commandos. If we can help even one we must do it.’

  Jules sighed. ‘As you say, sir.’

  *

  ‘Pound Twelve,’ Rachel said. ‘Pound Twelve.’

  ‘Pound Twelve,’ Liane replied, frowning. This was not her usual contact.

  ‘Pound Two. You have been betrayed. Leave Paris immediately.’

  ‘Your news is a little out of date.’

  ‘Oh, my God! What has happened?’

  ‘To the route? Nothing, so far. It is still operable. Let me speak to Pound One.’

  ‘I think Pound One is dead.’

  Liane stared at the set for several seconds. ‘Say again?’

  ‘He has also been betrayed.’

  ‘And the others?’

  ‘We have no news. None of our people have returned. There is no word of yours.’

  ‘That is very serious.’

  ‘Yes,’ Rachel said, ‘I am so terribly sorry. For both our sakes. But you must leave Paris and return to Vichy.’

  ‘My business is here. With the route.’

  ‘The route must survive without you for a while. Have you no one to take your place?’

  Liane considered. ‘Yes. It can operate without me. For a little while.’

  ‘Then see that it does. Your immediate business is to return to Vichy and reorganize your group. That is an order.’

  ‘Understood,’ Liane said. ‘Over and out.’ She replaced the mike, lowered the aerial, and closed the cupboard in which the radio was situated. For a moment she couldn’t think, because she didn’t want to think. James was dead! Oddly, it was something she had never expected to happen. But she had not even the time to give way to personal grief, and in any event, her feelings for him, although she had enjoyed moments of great passion in his arms, had always been ambivalent. She found herself wondering about the woman on the radio. Pound Two had to be his second in command. Pierre had told her, when he had visited James’s office before being returned to France, that there had only been a staff of one, a young woman he had described as quite attractive, named Rachel. Could this be her? She had certainly sounded fond of her boss.

  But that was really irrelevant. The important catastrophe was the suggestion that the guerillas had been wiped out. Pierre would have been leading them, and Henri would certainly have accompanied them. Were they both dead? Amalie would be devastated. And was she not devastated? But again, more important than personal grief, there was the group, now without a leader. Moulin was a splendid organizer, and he had the prestige, but because of his injuries he could not lead in the field, and without someone to do that the group would disintegrate. Pound Two had recognized that; hence her orders, which had to be obeyed. She didn’t want to leave Paris. Or the brothel. She was enjoying herself, even if it was irksome being unable to go outside. But inside … She had even on occasion visited the bar, an
d been in instant demand. Once, she had been told, she had even serviced a very high-ranking Gestapo officer. Constance hadn’t known who he was — he was apparently only on a visit to Paris — but the other officers had all clearly been in awe of him. He had been a good lover, too. But if there was any risk of the group ceasing to exist …

  The door opened. ‘That was a long conversation,’ Achille said. ‘It is dangerous to talk for so long.’

  ‘It was necessary. I must leave.’

  ‘Leave? To go where?’

  ‘There has been trouble in the south. I must sort it out.’

  ‘But you cannot leave. Who will command here?’

  ‘You. Or if you cannot, Constance. She is a treasure.’

  ‘But what of Jacqueline?’

  Liane sighed. ‘Achille, Jacqueline is gone. She is in a concentration camp.’

  ‘She may come back. Your parents came back.’

  ‘If she comes back, I am sure it will make you very happy. But my being here, or not, will not affect that. I must go.’

  ‘How can you go? The Germans are looking for you everywhere.’

  ‘The Germans have been looking for me for more than a year, and now they do not even know what I look like.’

  ‘Jacqueline will have told them. They will have tortured her, and she will have told them. Your name, too. Oh, my poor baby sister.’

  Liane held his hand. ‘I am so terribly sorry. But you are quite right. I must go and have a talk with Constance. One of her girls can fetch Laurent to make me a new identity card and a travel document. And she will take over the local running of the route.’ She kissed him. ‘Don’t worry. I will come back. As soon as I have sorted things out in the south.’

  *

  ‘What a fuck-up,’ Heydrich remarked, throwing the report across his desk. ‘I thought you said Roess was a good man?’

  ‘He is,’ Weber insisted. ‘This is not his fault. He had to apply to the local commander for men to carry out his mission, and once that idiot heard what it was about he insisted upon taking over.’

  ‘Roess should have applied to you, or me, for overriding authority.’

  ‘Agreed. But he was new to the job and was uncertain as to what powers you might have over the Wehrmacht.’ Heydrich raised his eyebrows. ‘Well,’ Weber said defensively, ‘not everyone realizes who you are. Anyway, the operation was not that much of a failure. The entire British force was wiped out. All the boats were sunk, and out of an estimated one hundred men only eight made the shore. They are now in captivity.’

  ‘You are positive of these figures?’

  Weber made a face. ‘There are some indications that one or two others may have reached the beach. The tides are strong in the English Channel, and it is possible that a few men might have been swept away from the harbour. But even if they made the shore, they have nowhere to go. They will be picked up,’

  ‘So the affair will be trumpeted as a great victory. Three little fishing boats and perhaps a hundred men. I wonder how many fishing boats Churchill has at his command? We know he has getting on for a million men. Do you really suppose this minor mishap is going to cause him to lose five minutes’ sleep? The object of the exercise was to destroy the Gruchy guerilla group, and this has not been done. Has it? Have you any evidence that they were even there?’

  ‘They were there all right. Roess combed the countryside after the battle, found evidence of a group of people having camped within a few miles of the port.’

  ‘But they never attacked.’

  ‘Well, as you say, the navy jumped the gun. I would assume the guerillas were to attack the moment the British hit the beach. They must have seen, or heard, the naval attack, and decided to withdraw.’

  ‘I assume Roess mounted a pursuit?’

  ‘Yes, but he has not found anything. These people just melt into the local populace.’

  ‘So, you accept that from our point of view the operation has been a complete failure.’

  Weber sighed. ‘We must accept that, yes.’

  ‘And the search for Liane de Gruchy and her lover?’ Weber sighed again. ‘They have vanished into thin air.’

  ‘Did you get nothing out of the sister?’

  ‘The name de Gruchy is currently using. But I imagine she has, or can obtain, another identity.’

  ‘And a description?’

  ‘Oh, yes. She claims the woman she knows as Sandrine Bouchard has short black hair.’

  ‘But you are still convinced it is de Gruchy?’

  ‘Hair can easily be cut and dyed. The ruthlessness of the killings makes it seem certain. And we know she is in Paris.’

  ‘On your woman’s say-so, nothing more. It is a very good thing that we are not living in a society where we have to prove our cases in an impartial court of law. This one, certainly, would be thrown out. Where is this woman Jacqueline Custace now?’

  ‘In a concentration camp.’

  ‘And she gave you nothing more than a description of this woman? You are losing your touch. What did you do to her?’

  ‘I used electricity.’

  ‘Do you know, I have never seen that method employed. Was it … interesting?’

  ‘Very. Especially as we went the whole way. She kept shrieking that she did not know her brother’s whereabouts. Actually, I very rapidly believed her. But we went on asking her anyway, until she passed out.’

  ‘I can see that must have been enjoyable. Have you taken those hostages?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘And shot any of them?’

  ‘I shot all of them, when it became obvious that neither de Gruchy nor Custace were going to surrender.’

  ‘So what are you going to do now?’

  ‘We shall keep looking. I intend to return to Paris myself for a while.’

  ‘Cannot Roess be left in charge?’

  ‘I will not interfere. I just feel I should be there.’

  Heydrich regarded him for several moments. ‘I thought you hated France. And the French.’

  ‘I do, as a people. However …’ Weber actually flushed.

  ‘Out with it.’

  ‘Well … Roess took me to a house there.’

  ‘You mean a brothel.’

  ‘True. But it is the best house I have ever been in. And the madam — she calls herself Constance — is an absolute delight.’

  ‘And this house is safe?’

  ‘Oh, indeed. It is reserved exclusively for German officers.’

  ‘Therefore you are not likely to pick up any information on the whereabouts of de Gruchy or her boyfriend.’

  ‘Well, no. But a man cannot work all of the time.’

  Heydrich lit a fresh cigarette. ‘I object to no man seeking pleasure, as long as it does not interfere with his duty. I would just like to make a couple of points. I handed this business over to the SD because the Gestapo was getting nowhere, and, I admit it freely, you came up with some very good ideas. Unfortunately, none of them have worked. The senior de Gruchys have been back in Paulliac for more than two months, and no attempt has been made by any member of their family to contact them. Your woman does seem to have penetrated the guerilla group, but her information has been mishandled and squandered. Have you any means of contacting Ulstein?’

  ‘None. We have to wait for her to contact us. And after what has happened, she will have to regroup, as it were.’

  ‘But she did manage to contact Hoeppner. Did she pinpoint the guerilla position?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘That is something. We must act on it.’

  It was Weber’s turn to raise his eyebrows. ‘You will need authority.’

  ‘I will get authority.’

  ‘I will look forward to that.’ Weber stood up. ‘And Jonsson?’

  ‘She cannot interfere now. Let her go to Sweden, if she wishes.’

  ‘Do you not suppose that could be dangerous? She knows that Ulstein is our agent. If she has any means of getting in touch with the guerillas …’
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br />   ‘What do you propose?’

  ‘I have some ideas. Will you leave it with me?’

  Heydrich stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Just remember to be careful.’

  *

  ‘Good morning, sir.’ Rachel stood to attention as the brigadier entered the office. After three days of utter despair, she was freshly bathed and dressed, her hair arranged in its normal bun, her spectacles firmly on her nose. She had no idea what was going to happen. She did not care.

  The brigadier gazed at her for several seconds. He was a stockily built man with receding dark hair, and wore a neatly trimmed military moustache which quite betrayed his three-piece suit. But then, his bearing also did that. Now he moved about the office, looking at various things. ‘What have you been doing?’

  ‘Waiting, sir. Listening.’

  ‘Any word from Jonsson?’

  ‘No, sir. The unorthodox manner in which she conveyed her information makes me think that she is under some kind of restraint.’

  ‘Or something has happened to Joachim Schmitt. We haven’t heard from him for a while, either. Mind you, I always had doubts about employing that sort of fellow. He was established by my predecessor, you know. Before the war.’

  Rachel had a sense of bemusement, that this so aloof man who had usually in the past treated her as if she wasn’t there was discussing confidential departmental matters as if she were his private secretary. But that he was doing so made her sense of despair grow. ‘Is there no news, sir?’

  The brigadier sat behind James’s desk. ‘Jerry is claiming a “great victory in the English Channel”. I am quoting. Their communiqué says “three English warships sunk and their crews killed or captured”.’

  Rachel’s heart leapt. ‘Captured?’

  ‘They claim to be holding eight of them.’

  ‘Have they …?’

  ‘No names have been released as yet. However, from our point of view, it makes no odds whether James was killed or captured.’

  I suppose not, you old bastard, Rachel thought. But she said, ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Do you wish to take a vacation?’

  ‘I would like to stay here, sir. In case something comes in. And until we hear from the guerillas.’