Taking not a second longer, he brought the palm of his right hand down firmly on the bell.
‘Now, please, here are our breakfasts. Enjoy and I will see that a full lunch hamper is made up for you both.’
‘Gasoline, General.’
‘Of course. Two jerry cans and a full tank. You’ve only to call round to the Abwehr’s garage since it still exists. I’ll give you an order for them and a blanket ausweise for the journey.’*
Two smoked herring, sausages, eggs and ham were set before Louis who had, Kohler knew, been looking forward to more illegal croissants, butter and jam but would now have to eat the lot as if enjoying it all.
Having come out here to the east of Reims about eight kilometres in an attempt to pick up the trail of that van and gazogène, they had taken a short detour to the north of the RD 380 to the base of what had to be one of the most massively ugly, pentagonal fortresses, felt Kohler. Smashed grey-stone walls rose to gun emplacements in tiers, reminding them both of the stupidity of all such wars, but here the maximum elevation was only 175 metres. Farms crowded the lowermost slopes and were spread out over the plain of Champagne. Sugar beets, rutabagas, cabbages, turnips, onions and potatoes, hay, wheat, barley and corn all seemed to flourish in that chalky soil in spite of the shortages of manure. Kids, mothers, grandmothers, wagons, handcarts, plow horses, bullocks, old men, too, and the disabled from that other war were at the harvest. And to the south of Reims, on the slopes of the Montagne de Reims, which wasn’t a mountain at all but an escarpment and plateau of about 275 metres at its highest, the leaves would be turning and the vendage in progress: champagne and those roads toward Reims busy as hell, so you don’t stop traffic, otherwise folks get very angry and shout their heads off.
Built between 1875 and 1878, the fortress of Witry-lès-Reims, named Loewendal by the Wehrmacht in 1914, had been but a part of the defensive chain of fortresses and batteries the Third Republic had thrown up after the Franco-Prussian War. Universal conscription had been introduced. Never again would la patrie suffer such a humiliating defeat, yet they had prepared for a style of warfare that would no longer be in vogue, and had done the same damned thing in this one with the Maginot Line.
‘In 1914, at the start of it in August, Hermann, there was a garrison of three hundred and seventy-seven. Bien sûr, the magazine alone held 85,000 kilos of artillery shells for the thirty-one heavy guns above, a cavern so huge it defied reason. Tunnels and tunnels, and even a bread oven that could bake three hundred and fifty loaves a day. Czar Nicholas II was very impressed when he attended the grandes manoeuvres de l’Est on September 1901, same garrison size, same bread oven.’
Yet it, and other such forts, and there had been a lot of them taken, had only been turned against the French in the 1914–1918 war. ‘And assuming that my side would have rightly used those guns every day for 1,051 of them, we sent shell after French shell into Reims, a few of our own as well.’
‘Levelling more than 12,000 of its 14,000 houses, virtually all of the public buildings and enough of the cathedral, its repairs lasted all but to the start of the present hostilities.’
But entry here was absolutely forbidden, the road up and into it all having been closed off by a mountain of rubble.
‘Hidden in the back of that truck, Louis, our Anna-Marie wouldn’t have seen a thing in any case and would have only wondered what the hell was going on.’
Knowing as she must have, that there was an informant amongst them. ‘But they would have sought the heights elsewhere, Hermann, since those leaving the city and travelling east on the RD 380 would have told them of why there was such a traffic hold-up going west.’
‘Every incoming vehicle being torn apart in a desperate attempt to find her by a Standartenfûhrer and a Kriminalrat who should have known better than to broadcast what they were after.’
‘Though it will now be overgrown by forest, the lookout at Berru might be better. It’s about 7.5 kilometres from Reims and at an altitude of about 270 metres. Those comrades of yours also shelled the city from there.’
‘And with French guns, was it?’
‘There’s a magazine that would have held 65,000 kilos of shells and a bread oven that would have produced three hundred loaves a day.’
Dented, speckled by bird shot and rusting, the sign wasn’t any more than twenty-four years old, yet clear enough:
BERRU LOOKOUT AND BATTERY,
CONSTRUCTED BETWEEN 1876 AND 1881.
THIS WOODS AND ITS DEFENSIVE WORKS
ARE ALL PRIVATE PROPERTY
AND EXTREMELY DANGEROUS.
HUNTING AND TRESPASSING ARE STRICTLY FORBIDDEN.
‘Messieurs … Messieurs, écoutez-moi, s’il vous plaît. Les bombardements de la Grande Guerre, n’est-ce pas? Les obus explosifs et des mortiers aux perforants.’
‘The armour-piercing ones, Louis, but he’s forgotten to include the grenades and land mines.’
‘Leave him to me, Hermann. We don’t have time to argue.’
Oaks, beeches, chestnut and pine, none probably more than twenty-five years old, grew in profusion, and through these and the underlying brush, a stone-laid trudge path brought instant memories of men slugging shells uphill and wounded down.
A stone lookout that no one had bothered to repair, and why should they have, nestled on high and might well have given a clear enough view and been used by that passeur, but Louis had gone back along the road a little.
The resident retainer’s house was on a postage stamp of a clearing, with woodpile, drive-shed, chickens, cow, goat, and he with one arm, the left. But the frayed bit of ribbon with its red-lined green moiré and bronze palm on this bantam’s chest indicated a Croix de Guerre. Less than the five mentions a silver would have brought, but no matter since one was quite enough.
Full and broad, and not unlike Werner Dillmann’s, the grey and mercilessly tended moustache was given a decisive knuckle brush. ‘Me, Horace Rivet and former corporal in an army that was an army and didn’t run like those in this war, cannot let you pass, Inspectors. The wife will insist. She’s a Jouvand. Her father and mother are far worse.’
‘Are there others who would watch and report our trespassing if you did allow us to have a look?’ asked Louis, pleasantly enough.
‘They are all too busy at the harvest but will have seen that car of yours taking to this hill.’
‘It’s urgent. A murder inquiry. Your assistance is not only necessary, Corporal, it’s demanded under the law.’
Ah bon, firmness would be necessary. ‘Arrest me, then. If my boys were here, and not in the prisoner-of-war camps of that one, and let me tell you they and the others with them fought bravely, I would simply stand back and have them deal with you. It’s far too dangerous as the sign plainly states, or is it that you can’t or refuse to read?’
God would use the stubborn ones. ‘Like yourself, we were both soldiers and know well enough what to watch out for.’
‘Then you will understand perfectly that buried materiel can choose its moment even after the years of waiting.’
Which was absolutely true, given the recurring news reports of unfortunate farmers inadvertently hitting something or trying to dig it up. ‘That partner of mine is a Gestapo.’
He would toss the hand at such muscle, felt Rivet. ‘Even if he were that one’s Führer, access would still be forbidden.’
Cheapness would allow Hermann to shine. ‘Would fifty francs help?’
‘Merde alors, what is this I am hearing from a Sûreté? The badge, Inspector. The number?’
A sigh had best be given, a hand tossed as well. ‘He’s one of Franchet d’Espèrey’s men, Hermann. The Fourth Corps, but then the Third and Tenth joining them. The Battle of Guise, to Frenchmen; to yourselves, that of Saint-Quentin. Demoralized and discouraged, men like Corporal Rivet found in that new commander of theirs the necessary and fough
t bravely with both impressive courage and decisiveness.’
‘Dawn, 29 August 1914,’ said Rivet, ‘and the mist as thick as porridge. Nothing but fear in our hearts, the battle wearing on and on until, at about 1800 hours, the miracle. There he was riding that chestnut charger of his out in front and waving us on. The whole of the German line gave way as we drove them back.’
‘The British calling him “Desperate Frankie,” Hermann; his men, “the fire-eater.”’
‘Our right flank then digging in atop the Chemin des Dames, eh, Louis, to begin that terrible trench warfare you’ve been telling me about. Quit being so cheap. Here’s a thousand, Corporal.’
‘I’ll say I was in the shithouse.’
‘And the wife?’ hazarded St-Cyr.
‘No artichokes from Laon for four years if not eight, she’d tell you because of what those damned people from the Rhine and to the east of it had done to that beautiful city. No asparagus and strawberries from Chenay because of the battery there that was like this one? Had I not been in those “trenches” myself, I’d have wept like her and her parents, God rest them all.’
‘Give him 2,000 francs, Hermann.’
These two must really be determined. ‘No one comes here. Indeed, why should they, and yet suddenly there are others and then yourselves?’
Ah mon Dieu! ‘What others, Corporal?’
‘Perhaps a further …’
‘Here’s a 5,000-franc note,’ said the partnership’s banker.
‘A van from the Banque Nationale de Crédit et Commercial early last Wednesday and then, an hour or so later, a heavily laden truck, a gazogène.’
Uh-oh, now here it comes, felt Kohler. ‘Both to have a look at what was holding up traffic on the RD 380 to Reims?’
Since the forest that had been cleared by such in 1914 had obviously grown back in, and the lookout in total disrepair, one would have thought these two might have noticed, but one had better tell them anyway. ‘Me, I have to think it had more to do with avoiding a little something else.’
That hand was extended, Hermann pulling out the bankroll to ask, ‘What?’
Another 1,000-franc note was found. ‘One of those little sand-coloured aircraft with the Maltese Cross on its wings and fuselage, the croix gammée on the tail, and from the desert war that was, apparently, lost.’
‘Hermann, there’s a Luftwaffe airfield just to the north of Reims. I should have remembered.’
‘Me, too, so what else, Corporal?’
‘The van, when it arrived, immediately sought cover under my chestnut trees, the truck the same. Both were, of course, told to leave but …’
‘They paid you,’ sighed Louis.
‘Inspector, I did not say that!’
‘Good. The ham, eggs, cheese or whatever, suited, Louis. And the girl?’
Merde, that 5,000-franc note was being teased away. ‘What girl, Inspectors?’
‘Just tell us,’ said the other one.
They must be after her, felt Rivet, but had she been violated by those two in the van, the throat slit? ‘At first, there was no sign of her and then the more robust of the three with the truck insisted on opening its back and getting inside to open something else, and finally she appeared, blinking at the unaccustomed light. A blonde, a looker peut-être, but I didn’t think so at the time because she was very pale and obviously worried. Saying nothing, she remained apart by the truck, even though the one who had freed her asked me for water for her and I brought it, she then thanking me but in the faintest of voices as she looked questioningly at those from the van and the other two that had come with the truck. Me, I think her heart fell when she saw that van.’
‘Why?’ asked Louis.
‘Merde alors, how am I to know such a thing? Maybe she knew of the bank.’
‘Or of the driver and his assistant. Did they recognize her?’ asked St-Cyr.
This Sûreté was determined to have the answer he and the Gestapo wanted.‘Those with the van grinned at one another, but as to herself, me I think she was terrified of them. Did those two make mischief with her?’
‘That’s not for you to know.’
‘That spotter plane could easily have reported them, Louis.’
‘But couldn’t have, Hermann. Instead, our passeur made a hasty decision just as he must have done with the contents of those pockets: she to the van, since of the two vehicles, it was by far the lesser to be stopped and searched.’
Ah bon, she was definitely the one of interest and that 5,000-franc note could now be demanded back. ‘One of the two Dutchmen with the truck didn’t want her to go in the van and claimed it would be far too dangerous, that they should wait it out here and then go well to the east before turning south to go around the Montagne de Reims to Epernay, that the forest there would hide them well. The other two talked it over and finally the French one went to speak to the two with the van and they shook hands.’
‘A moment, please, Corporal,’ said the Sûreté. ‘Two Dutchmen and then a Frenchman?’
‘Oui. One of the Dutchmen was the mechanic and driver of the truck, for when they first arrived, it was he who immediately dampened the truck’s little fire to stop any smoke from giving them away.’
‘Age, name—any such details?’ asked Louis.
‘Age, about twenty-eight or thirty; name, Arie; the other one, the complainer, lighter, taller, younger and far less robust. It’s in the hands, n’est-ce pas? One always looks at them. This one hadn’t done a lot of physical work. The mechanic and the … Was it a passeur, you called the Frenchman, Inspector?’
‘Never mind. Just tell us this other Dutchman’s age and name.’
Had that one done something to the girl? ‘Maybe twenty-four, maybe younger by a year or two. Name, Frans. The girl was far more wary of that one than of the mechanic, who seemed to like her. She was easier with him, too, and even smiled faintly when he asked me to bring her some water. It was as though she had expected him to do that and was pleased to find her thoughts had been correct.’
‘Arie. And that third one, the Frenchman?’ asked Louis.
‘Étienne. About thirty-four. Always intent. Never for a moment did he stop assessing everything, even the girl who steadily looked right back at him when he looked questioningly at her, she keeping her distance and her thoughts about the two with the van to herself.’
‘Now tell us what they agreed,’ said Hermann, fingering another 1,000-franc note.
‘At first, the driver of the van said he would wait with her at the side of the road to the south of Laon, in the village of Corbeny, but when she overheard this, the girl said that would be far too conspicuous and that they should meet up at L’Abbaye de Vauclair, that she had once read of some ruins there. She was then locked into the back of the van and when the spotter plane had returned to the air base and they could no longer hear it, they started out, the truck following the other once its little fire had got going well enough.’
‘The distance between them increasing, Louis.’
‘They never knowing if that aircraft would take off and start searching for them again, Hermann.’
‘Inspectors, they decided to go east and away from Reims toward Rethel, then cut overland toward Berry-au-Bac and the road to Laon.’
‘And at Corbeny, would turn west,’ said the Sûreté. ‘Did she take her suitcase with her, Corporal?’
‘That wouldn’t have been necessary, since they were to collect her at those ruins.’
Good for him. Logic was everything to the French, but Louis had forced Rivet to say what he had anyway and now asked, ‘Her shoes, Corporal?’
The smile was immediate. ‘Those must have been very expensive. She hated to have to wear them, but her other ones had become impossible—a split seam, a loose sole and nothing but broken laces. The mechanic got the good ones for her, but she didn’t put the
m on when she got into the back of the van.’
‘Since she had to climb over everything, Louis.’
‘And now for the cut on her hand or forearm, Corporal?’ asked that one.
Another 500-franc note was found. ‘It was festering badly and ran from the back of her left hand between thumb and forefinger, round and across the heel of her palm where it was deepest. Barbed wire, I’m certain. Me, I’ve seen lots of the damage that stuff can do, but didn’t ask. Her fist was hurting like hell, that’s for sure. She had pried off its bandage to have a look. Jagged, swollen and full of pus. Me, I told her she should squeeze it hard after first soaking in hot, salted water. I offered an ointment my wife used to make, but that passeur said there wasn’t time. Is she still alive, Inspectors?’
‘And that, mon ami,’ said Hermann, ‘we only wish we knew.’
Three stitches had been needed to close the deeper wound across the heel of her palm. Yet it was odd—fortuitous perhaps—felt Anna-Marie, that the object which had caused it, and the cut itself, should now have given her the final answer.
The coin was of silver and from among the last to have been minted. The rijksdaaler she had known, when but a child of five, had been 37 millimetres in diameter, 2.6 in thickness and had weighed, after very carefully having been placed on the special scales at Papa’s work, a whole 25 grams. Even now, especially now, it felt as money should: good money, real money. Something a person could trust absolutely and be immensely proud of as she had been when Papa had pressed that first one into her hand and had said, ‘Oh by the way, my dear miss, did you happen to lose one of these?’
She hadn’t dared leave it in a pocket for fear Frans Oenen, the killer of those two from the van, would drag the chair away from the bathtub and search through her things. He must know that she had not only found and taken it from under that nest of barbed wire where he had secreted it on a wooden post at that frontier crossing into Belgium, but that she had finally realized who he really was. No alias anymore. One careless comment had revealed it. ‘Collodion,’ he had said not an hour ago to Étienne Labrie, her passeur and his boss. ‘She can hide that cut easily with that.’
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