The Brightest Day

by Christopher Nicole

  Beneath her feet, the diesel engines were already rumbling, and the ship was slowly moving away from the dock. She kept watching the land, almost expecting to see men running towards her, calling for the ferry to put back. She remained where she was until the ship cleared the pier heads. Then she went inside to the bar and ordered a cognac. She took the drink to a corner table and sat there while she sipped it. In a couple of hours’ time she would be in Sweden, and the great adventure would be over. She had hoped to see it out, actually to be in Berlin when the Allies marched into the city. Well, she supposed, nothing ever works out exactly as it should.

  So now, what? A great deal of emptiness. After the lies she had told to the conspirators, she could not even claim a medal. She had sent a good many gallant men to their deaths in an attempt to bring off one final coup. And at least one woman, who had never really understood what it was all about. Oh, Madeleine.

  But then, oh, Liane. Survive Liane, she thought. Oh, please survive.

  Ten

  The Last Betrayal

  “Time to move,” James said.

  Slowly, Liane uncoiled herself. Although it was high summer, at this altitude the nights were cold and made more so by the persistent fog. She checked her haversack. There is half a sausage left.”

  “So we may have to go hungry for a few hours. We are almost there.” He had followed his map for the past two days and was certain that they were just about at the western edge of the plateau. Progress had been slow because the entire Vercours was crawling with troops, but these at least were not members of the SS and were more intent on going through the motions of searching for any remaining guerillas than in actually finding them. But they still had to be avoided, which meant long hours crouching in the bushes or in gullies while the troops had tramped by, while every so often they would hear a burst of gunfire to suggest that the Germans had either found someone or were extremely trigger-happy. And if they had managed to avoid meeting any Germans, they still had to get down the outer slopes of the plateau.

  “What happened, James?” Liane had asked. “Were we betrayed?”

  “I don’t think we were betrayed deliberately,” James said. “We were just too low on the list of priorities. If Delestraint had survived to push his pet project…”

  “But they said they were coming. And they didn’t.”

  “I think they probably tried and were put off by the fog. They must have thought they had time, as if they couldn’t get in, no one else could.”

  “But the Germans did.”

  “They have a somewhat more ruthless approach to human life, including that of their own people.” They had passed by the airstrip in their escape and seen the several wrecked aircraft.

  “So they always win,” Liane said bitterly.

  “So they always lose,” James insisted. “There is a greater force in the world than pragmatism.” She had accepted his dogma, but now it was a matter of putting it to the test. They left their hiding place and made their way west. “Will we find friends down there?” he asked.

  “I have no doubt of it.”

  “So all we have to do is climb down. Just take your time and follow me.” They reached the first steep decline. There was no way of telling whether it was an outer wall or merely another ravine. They clambered down and up the other side. “False alarm,” he said. “You okay?”

  “I’m okay.”

  But as she spoke there was a challenge. “Who is there?”

  The words were spoken in French, but the accent was not. Without hesitation, Liane brought up her tommy-gun and fired a burst into the mist. There were screams of pain and alarm. The pair of them went to ground as fire was returned, over their heads.

  “Shit,” Liane said. “My drum is empty.”

  James had already drawn his revolver. “Then we must wait for them to come to us.”

  “We cannot,” she said, as they listened to the whistles being blown.

  “Well, then, to the left.” They crawled through the undergrowth, listening to answering whistles and some more shots. But clearly the soldiers were not sure where their enemies were. A few minutes later, they reached another steep downward slope. James peered into the mist. He could see nothing beyond fifty feet, but fifty feet could mean a wide ravine or…

  “We’re going down,” he whispered.

  “Who is there?” a voice called from very close at hand.

  Liane rolled on her back, her Luger thrust forward.

  “No,” James said urgently. The rest of the patrol had to be close at hand.

  Liane looked at him but was prepared to obey. The sound of feet came closer until they could see boots. “You will surrender, eh?” the man said, peering down at them behind his rifle.

  James scythed his feet sideways, catching the soldier on the ankle. In the same movement he got up, his revolver replaced by his knife… but the soldier had gone, into space, with a despairing scream. Liane was also on her feet. But James seized her arm and dragged her down again. “Not a sound,” he whispered.

  “Joseph?” a voice called. “Joseph?”

  “Be careful,” someone else said in German. “He has gone over.”

  “Down there?” the first man asked.

  “We must get after him.”

  “He is gone. It is a drop of several hundred feet.”

  “But he was speaking to someone. Challenging someone.”

  “Do you hear anyone?”

  “There was no reply.”

  “Then there was no one there. Let us get away from here, before we fall over as well. This place gives me the creeps. And we have reached the end of our sweep.”

  “Poor Joseph,” the first man said. “That is a terrible way to die.”

  “It is better than a bullet in the gut.” The voices faded.

  “Several hundred feet,” James said. “You game?”

  “As the man said,” Liane responded, “It is better than a bullet in the gut. Or a Gestapo torture chamber.”

  *

  “You are from the Vercours,” the patron said as he served cheese and bread and wine.

  “What makes you say that?” Liane asked.

  “Your clothes. You are filthy. Besides, you are Liane de Gruchy. I have heard much about you.”

  Both James and Liane rustled as they sought their weapons. “What are you going to do about that?” Liane asked in her softest voice.

  “I will tell my grandchildren that I once served Liane de Gruchy.”

  “And where are your grandchildren?”

  “They are not born yet, mademoiselle.”

  “Ah.”

  “We heard the shooting, the bombing, the noise… It was terrible. I do not know how you got out.”

  “Mademoiselle de Gruchy always gets out,” James said. “Is she not immortal?”

  “I wish to believe that, monsieur. Without her, we are a defeated nation.”

  “Well, then, will you help us?”

  “Tell me what you wish.”

  “We need a bed to sleep,” Liane said. “After we have had a hot bath.”

  “Of course, mademoiselle. And a change of clothes, certainly for the gentleman. He will not get very far in an English uniform.”

  “Are there many Germans about?”

  “Too many. But I believe they will soon be pulling out. They have already sent off their prisoners.”

  “Prisoners?” James asked. “They have taken prisoners?”

  “Oh, yes, monsieur. There were several prisoners. I saw them being marched to the railway station. They were an unhappy lot. Especially that poor girl. She looked so sad.” Liane put down her wine glass. “Did you say girl?”

  “Well… a young woman, mademoiselle.”

  “And she was a prisoner. Was she hurt?”

  “Well… there was blood on her clothes. But she moved freely, not as if she were badly hurt.”

  “And what was going to happen to her?”

  “As I understood what was being said, they were
being sent to Paris. For interrogation by the Gestapo.”

  “There are no Gestapo in Grenoble?”

  “Oh, there is an office. And there was a bigwig down from Berlin to oversee the attack, but he had to hurry back. Have you not heard the news? Hitler has been blown up.”

  It was James’ turn to put down his glass. “Hitler is dead?”

  “I do not believe so, monsieur. But a bomb was set off close to where he was standing. He was certainly injured. All Germany is in turmoil.”

  James stared at Liane. Joanna? Certainly, she must have been telling the truth, regardless of how long it took. But Liane did not know about Joanna’s coup; he had never told her, nor did she care what had happened to Hitler. Her mind was elsewhere. “You say this man took the prisoners with him?”

  “No, no. He was in great haste. From what I heard the soldiers saying, it was General Bittner’s decision to send them to Paris.”

  “For interrogation,” Liane said softly. “How long ago was this?”

  “The day before yesterday, mademoiselle. As to when they will get there, or if they will get there at all… This country is also in turmoil.”

  “I know,” Liane said. “You were going to draw us a bath.”

  “I do not think there will be sufficient hot water for two.”

  “That is not important. We will share.” The patron rolled his eyes but hurried off.

  “You do not know that it was Amalie,” James said.

  “Of course it was Amalie. She was the only other woman fighting with us.”

  “Well, if it were… what can we do?”

  “I am going to Paris.”

  “Now, my darling girl, how are you going to get there? The country is alive with German troops—”

  “I can get there.”

  “And then?”

  “I have friends.”

  “And you think these friends will help you get Amalie out of a Gestapo cell? That is, supposing she is still alive?”

  “She is still alive. I feel it in my bones.” She rested her hand on his. “Will you come with me? Or do you feel you should report back to Pound and take their orders?”

  “That is what I should do, certainly. But if I do they’ll pull me out for the rest of the War. And what the hell, they almost certainly think I’m dead, anyway.”

  “They will be sad. Rachel will be sad.” He gazed at her with his mouth open. She squeezed his hand. “I am not a fool, James. So, would you rather live with Rachel, or die with me?” He squeezed her hand back.

  *

  Feet, in the corridor. Madeleine sat up, straightening her dress and smoothing her hair. She was not used to sleeping in her clothes, to being unable to clean her teeth or wash her face.

  The last couple of days had been the most ghastly of her life, made bearable by the fact that no one had actually touched her as yet, save from handcuffing her to bring her here. But the cuffs had been taken off, and she had been left alone, visited only by the two female warders, who had brought her meals. They had not spoken to her. They were afraid to do anything until they had heard from the very top. But now her deliverance was at hand. Oh, Adolf would be very upset at what had happened. He was probably very angry. But he had never been angry with her, and he was Helen’s godfather. He might well banish Freddie and her from Berlin for the rest of the War, but she thought she would rather welcome that.

  The door opened to admit Roess. Madeleine had not seen him since the moment of her arrest, two days before. Now he smiled at her, and if the smile was rather that of a cat regarding a captive mouse, she reminded herself that he always smiled like that. “And how are you today, Frau von Helsingen?” he inquired.

  “I am looking forward to getting home and having a hot bath.”

  “Ah, yes. A bath. Do you know, that is what we are about to give you, a bath. Sadly, it will have to be a cold bath. But that is better than nothing, eh? And while you are bathing, you and I will talk.”

  Madeleine stared at him. “What are you saying? Do you think I am going to allow you to be present while I am bathing?”

  “My dear Madeleine… you do not mind if I call you Madeleine? I feel we are going to become so intimate over the next few days. What you must understand is that you are no longer in a position to allow, or to disallow, anything. You are absolutely in my power.” He stepped up to her, held her chin and turned her head to and fro. “Do you know for how long I have looked forward to this moment? I have always known it would come.”

  Angrily, Madeleine jerked her head away from his grasp. She was panting but still unable to accept what was happening. “The Fuehrer—”

  “Ah, the Fuehrer. Do you know, I have just come from the Fuehrer. He gave me, Johann Roess, a personal interview. That is a measure of how seriously he is taking this business, taking your part in it, your relationship with the woman Jonsson.”

  “Joanna? You have arrested Joanna?”

  “She has got away.” Roess’ voice was suddenly harsh. “Having killed four of my agents in your sitting room, she killed two more in Lubeck, presumably when they tried to stop her leaving the country. The woman is an absolute monster.”

  “But she got away,” Madeleine said. “She wanted me to go with her. And I refused.”

  “That was silly of you. Her escape has angered the Fuehrer even more. Do you know what he told me? He said, Johann – he called me Johann! – Johann, he said, make that bitch squeal. Wring every last moan from her body before you hang her. And I wish a photograph for every moment of her torment. So, you see,” he snapped his fingers, and the photographer brought his equipment into the cell, “we will begin now, when you are sitting here, fully dressed, a little scruffy, perhaps, but obviously unharmed and in the best of health. Then we will take you along to the bathroom and remove your clothes. You will be photographed again while this is happening.”

  This cannot be happening, Madeleine thought. I am having a nightmare.

  “When you are naked,” Roess went on, his voice caressing now, “we will photograph you again, several times, I think, from various angles, to illustrate your finer points, shall I say. Then we shall place you in the bath. The water will be ice cold and it will drive the air from your lungs. While you are in that situation, we will hold your head under the water until you think you are about to drown. Then we will take you out and revive you. That will almost certainly have to be by mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, or by punching and squeezing of the chest to force the water from your lungs. The Fuehrer will enjoy those photographs. And then—”

  “Stop it!” Madeleine shouted. “What is it you wish to know? Ask me, and I will tell you.”

  “Why, we require names. The names of everyone who has visited your apartment since your husband’s return from the Eastern Front.”

  “How am I supposed to remember them all?”

  “I am sure you will do so, Frau, as we encourage you.”

  “Has my husband not given you names?”

  “Sadly, Madeleine, your husband is dead.”

  “What?” Madeleine shouted.

  “Or,” Roess said, looking at his watch, “he should be. In view of his wounds, and his past services to the Reich, and the fact that he is the son of an old friend of the Fuehrer’s, he was offered the option of taking poison rather than being hanged. I imagine he has done so by now. But do not worry, Madeleine. You will be hanged when I have finished with you.”

  Madeleine screamed.

  *

  “Come in, Roess,” Himmler invited. “Sit down. What is the news of Jonsson?”

  “There is no news, Herr Reichsfuehrer. We know she landed in Sweden but then she disappeared.”

  “Surely she has gone to her father?”

  “One would assume so. But I have had our agents watching Herr Jonsson’s house, and there has been no sign of her. I think she may have gone on to England.”

  “That would be a pity.”

  “Would you like me to mount a raid on Jonsson’s house? That wa
y we would know for sure if she is there or not.”

  “I absolutely forbid it. With things as they are, well… the Swedes may be very useful to us. We certainly do not wish to antagonize them. As a matter of fact, I have called you here today because…” He paused. “I assume that other business has been completed.”

  “Yes.” Roess’ tone was bitter.

  “Good. When is Frau von Helsingen to be hanged?”

  “She will not be hanged, Herr Reichsfuehrer.”

  Himmler raised his eyebrows. “Indeed? Why not?”

  “Because she is already dead.”

  “You allowed her to commit suicide? That was careless of you.”

  “I do not know if she committed suicide. We were using the cold water treatment, and the fools held her under a moment too long. Perhaps she deliberately inhaled, although I would not have said she had that much courage. In any event, she could not be revived.”

  “Did you get anything at all out of her?”

  “No. But that is not relevant. We have enough to go on with. The Fuehrer wanted her to suffer, and I had such plans for her. She really had a superb figure.” He sighed.

  “Water under the bridge,” Himmler said. “Or over the body, eh? Ha ha. But you would have had to give her up to somebody else, anyway. You have more important things to do. I want you in Paris just as quickly as you can get there.”

  “Paris?”

  “You served there for a couple of years. You know it well.”

  “Yes, I do. But—”

  Himmler leant forward. “Listen to me, Roess. Things are not going well. The Russian advance is slowing, but we have not actually checked it. But it is in France that the situation is more serious. The Allies have now broken out of Normandy and the situation there is calamitous. And now this landing on the Riviera… If we are not careful we could lose the entire country. Thus the Fuehrer has decided that we must create a strong point that must be held to the last man. The obvious strong point is Paris. It is a huge city and if the Allies get bogged down in trying to take it, street by street, they will expend thousand, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of men. We know they will never try to bomb or shell it out of existence; we saw that in their approach to Rome. But most importantly, it will cost them time. Time for us to complete the development of our secret weapons.”