Clandestine

by J. Robert Janes

  Trust Louis to have said it but not, ‘And out of sight.’

  ‘Ah oui, it ends in a cul-de-sac where there is, indeed, a manhole cover, but also iron-barred windows and locked doors. That’s where, on 13 June 1935, I was …’

  ‘Later, Louis. Later. Colonel, there are still far too many avenues of escape, not just the sewers.’

  ‘Is that cowardice I’m hearing?’ asked Kleiber, checking to see that all were finally in place. ‘If so, I can only warn you.’

  Probably never having ridden in a car before, the woman’s daughter had been ordered into the back of the tourer and was now too afraid to even look out its side windows. ‘She knows she lied, Louis, but given the way I’m feeling, there could well be an element of truth.’

  ‘Let’s let them go ahead. We have to talk, and the sooner the better.’

  ‘There isn’t time. Ludin’s ordered me to stick close to Kleiber, and has already made certain Oona and Giselle will be in Drancy and on their way to Mauthausen tomorrow at 0500 hours. I could have stopped it, Louis. I didn’t and am hating myself.’

  ‘And for that Anna-Marie would thank you.’

  ‘You did meet?’

  ‘Have a whiff of this but don’t let any of them see you.’

  His tobacco pouch, but the lock on that gate had been cut and the rush was on, the entrance to that former mansion being given just enough plastic to lift away the ornate bronze doors of antiquity.

  Down in the cellars, six plain wooden chairs stood in a semicircle facing a single one. Brimful, and reeking of sodium sulphide and hydrated lime, two of the vats that had been sunk into the floor were on either side of that chair, and from the wooden rods that lay end-to-end across them were steeping cowhides that when lifted, looked as if things had just begun.

  Effluent would run along the drain that led to a manhole next to the far wall. Elsewhere the vats were empty.

  It was Kleiber who found the blindfold and gag that had been cut away, Ludin who noted that beside an outermost chair in that semicircle, whoever had sat in it must have been wearing mud-caked boots.

  ‘Ach, Kriminalrat,’ said Kleiber, ‘there is also the note you insisted be sewn into the turn-ups of Oenen’s trousers in spite of my having definitely told you not to do such a thing.’

  Scrapings from hides lay about, wooden barrows, too, one of which looked oddly out of place and as if, in spite of the tannery’s having been closed, it had recently been used.

  So, too, an oil can and its wick.

  ‘Louis, I wish our Anna-Marie was here to tell us what’s different.’

  ‘These cowhides are mildewed.’

  Sounds came from the art gallery above and then the sounds didn’t, thought Anna-Marie. The voices were in Deutsch and French and accompanied by footsteps, and always there was this desperate need to listen should any be on the stairs to these cellars. Yet there was also this equally desperate need for haste when apparently none could be taken.

  Emmi was among those in the gallery; Emmi who had found the contact who had brought them here, yet to the pencil and tracing paper there was but total patience, for no line, letter or shading could be out of place or overlooked.

  Monsieur Auget, for that was the name he had given, had placed the letter from Kaltenbrunner on the light table and had fixed the tracing paper firmly above the stamp mark of the Reichssicherheitshauptamt­. Later he would make a woodcut or rubber stamp of it, but for now the tracing paper copy would have to do.

  The Galerie Dumail, formerly that of its original owner but now run by his assistant, was but one of several scattered amongst the antiquarian bookshops of the rue Guénégaud. A favourite haunt of the Occupier, as were those on the rue Mazarine off which this street ran, the quartier de Saint-Germain-des-Prés readily confronted­ one with its history. La Monnaie, the Mint, was just across the street. ‘And handy,’ Monsieur Auget had said. ‘Skilled engravers, as I was myself until a year-and-a-half ago, but those people wouldn’t dare do work like this, would they? Instead, it’s been left to myself to whom Maréchal Pétain himself pinned this in that other war.’

  The Médaille Militaire.

  ‘But in this one with the defeat, he has had no need of me.’

  Shoving his eyeglasses up to perch precariously on his brow, he said, ‘Now stop watching what I’ve been doing. Look away and think of something vastly different. A piglet or a chicken. Describe it to yourself in detail. That little fellow isn’t just greedily suckling, squeezed as he is amongst his brothers and sisters. He’s dug his hind legs into the straw and is pressing them firmly against the floor so as to get an even more possessive grip.’

  Arie would have said, ‘I was thinking of a goat.’

  He kissed his fingertips and threw that hand. ‘Chèvre,’ he said with longing. ‘A Chabichou du Poitou from the Loire. It has a delicacy that is sublime and is perfect with a freshly sliced, fully ripened pear and a glass or two of the Pouilly-Fumé. My Leah and I when on holiday would always enjoy such a repast right after our swim, then enjoy each other, of course.’

  ‘Your wife …’

  ‘She was there at home and I was here: 17 July last year. Operation Spring Wind, they called it—who would have thought of anything other than a pleasant stroll?’

  The Vel d’Hiv round-up.

  ‘Now forget that goat and look again at what we’ve before us. Concentrate hard, for lives depend on it, not just your own. Is there anything I’ve missed? Anything, even the tiniest of nicks or a gap across one of the letters that might indicate that the typeface had been worn or poorly cast?’

  The tracing seemed perfect.

  ‘Now let me show you something you may need to know when people like me are no longer available.’

  Turning the tracing paper over but now using jet-black copy ink and pen and that same care, he produced a mirror image of the stamp’s impression, but in reverse. Blowing on it a little, he then held it positioned over the letter he had written and typed up on a German machine, an Olympia, and carefully turning the tracing paper over, laid it down where it absolutely had to be and gently pressed the heal of his hand against it before teasing the tracing paper away.

  ‘Now for the signature that will free those two if, and I say this with great respect, you manage to get there before the real truck to Drancy does. But please, even with such a need for haste, don’t distract me. Take a look at your newpapers and start to memorize the details. You are now Annette-Marie Schellenberger from Cernay in Alsace. It’s a small town just to the east of Thann and it suffered greatly in the Great War, so you will know all about its cemeteries. Just to the north is Hartmannswillerkopf, what the French poilus called Vieil-Armand. It was Alsace’s Verdun, so look into it if you have time since your mother must have told you repeatedly where and how the father who never saw you had been killed. Oh, I almost forgot. I’ve given you a few years you don’t yet have, but they might just help. Who knows?’

  The photo of herself, taken and developed by an assistant, showed her as she now was dressed: severe and uncompromising.

  Taking up the letter he had typed, he said, ‘I’ve put the two you are to collect and take to Drancy as down for the Stutthof KZ. It’s in what was once north-central Poland. An administrative centre and forced-labour camp, it has at least a hundred sub-camps, so there will be plenty for your two to do should they ever reach such a terrible place. The SS have one of their armament’s factories there and it’s rumoured, we understand, that early next year work will begin on a Focke-Wulf aircraft plant.’

  Kaltenbrunner’s signature when compared with the original was perfect.

  Pushing across the table two of the diamonds Mijnheer Meyerhof had given her for herself, she saw Monsieur Auget shake his head. ‘That’s generous, but you’ve brought us something of inestimable value and certainly it was the reason I immediately agreed to drop everything and see you
, but one will be sufficient. You might need the other yourself.’

  ‘My life diamonds.’

  ‘And a very apt name. Bonne chance, Fraülein Schellenberger. Take a few moments to mingle with the gallery’s crowd, then quietly leave with your associate.’

  For now she would have to hang onto her old papers as well since to get to Arie and the truck, she had first to change out of the uniform and only later, back into it. But would those two have already been taken, and if so, what then would they find at that villa?

  Emmi hadn’t been able to contact Aram to even ask his permission.

  From the cellar of the tannery the sewer must run out to the rue des Gobelins, felt St-Cyr, to then connect with that one and from there, link up with the larger that carried the Bièvre, but it wasn’t good. A pair of worn-out leather work gloves had been left near that manhole grill as if quickly cast aside, the cover itself not quite settled back into place and indicating that someone—a résistant, ein Bandit—had thought to tightly close it after himself, but hadn’t quite managed.

  ‘Louis …’

  ‘Hermann, it’s far too deliberate. Refuse to do what Kleiber’s ordered. Tell him he has to first send in a Wehrmacht mine-disposal­ squad, orders or no orders.’

  ‘Kaltenbrunner is insisting I be the one because of my trip-to-heaven bomb-disposal experience at Vieil-Armand, but what Klie­ber has failed to notice is that whoever filled those two steeping tanks and left the rest for us to find, also uncovered enough of his background to know that the sewers would tempt him.’

  ‘Bien sûr, but we’re obviously dealing with someone who knows exactly what to do.’

  ‘If I let him.’

  On his hands and knees, and with everyone else having taken­ cover, Kohler ran his fingers lightly round the grill that dated from 1869 and just prior to the Franco-Prussian War, not that Kleiber or Ludin would give a damn about such an irony, but that wire might be of interest if left and so might the other one. A good five centimetres below the first, it ran along a seam between the paving stones and down into the sewer so that when the first was safely removed, the second would take care of things.

  Both took time, as did climbing down into the sewer to work his way carefully forward. Passing a red-brick lateral that must date from two hundred years ago and drain other areas into this one, he felt it had better be left for now, though it could well have been used. But when he found uncapped ten-litre glass jugs of concentrated sulphuric acid resting on a wedged-up plank above, they were balanced so lightly it could only mean there could well be others.

  More than half-full, the sewer was blocked by something. Prodded from behind by Kleiber, he said, ‘Pass these jugs back and up and be careful. He’ll be long gone, given what he’s already left.’

  ‘Is it that you’re refusing to continue?’

  ‘Ach, don’t be so dyed-in-the-wool. With these flashlights, if he was down here, he’d have shot us. Since he hasn’t, he must want something else or has simply buggered off.’

  ‘He’s hiding, or hiding something he doesn’t want us to find.’

  Above, and endlessly chain-smoking, Ludin kept his gaze rivetted to that open manhole, noted St-Cyr, as did the others, their machine-pistols cradled. Using a rope, one of the men carefully hoisted a full jug of acid and set it to one side, then another, the wooden workings of this steeping floor remaining fixed in position as if but waiting for the whistle. Yet there were rows of empty steeping tanks in the floor.

  Hides were in the blockage, hair from the scrapings, too, felt Kohler. Thick, heavy and waterlogged, the mush had been deliberately dumped into the sewer, but why? Simply to slow them down?

  When he found the charge, he knew the worst and said, ‘I think we’d better leave while we can.’

  ‘Defuse it.’

  ‘Ach, listen, you. He’s waterproofed it with a Kondom to make sure the time pencil and plastic remain bone dry. Since we’ve no idea of the pencil’s setting, I’ll either have to leave it here or take it up above, so which is it to be?’

  ‘Cut it open.’

  ‘You must really want a hero’s death, but those diamonds don’t even exist. They’re nothing but a rumour.’

  ‘Then understand that when arrested in Nice, Meyerhof’s son said otherwise. Under the reinforced interrogation of his wife and children, he readily confessed.’

  Naked, she would have screamed at her husband, as would the kids.

  Cutting the rubber away, Kohler heard himself saying, ‘Scheisse, it’s white. Two hours but glass broken when? Get out of here, Colonel.’

  Teasing the pencil out, he handed the charge of plastic to this eingefleischter and ducked down under that clotted mass to lay the pencil as far from them as possible. ‘If it goes off next to my foot, that’s it, mein Lieber, so we really should retreat.’

  Kleiber hadn’t listened. He had gone up that brick lateral and would now have to be told. ‘Standartenführer, maybe we should talk to Louis first since he met with that girl this afternoon.’

  Darkness had fallen, and when the truck finally came to the villa in Neuilly where Gestapo Boemelburg kept such prisoners, Anna-Marie felt the touch of Arie’s hand on her own.

  The gates to the drive off the rue de Rouvray were wide open as if expecting someone, but had those two the chief inspector wanted already been taken to Drancy, or had the gates been left this way for new arrivals?

  Blinkered, the blue-washed headlamps of the truck revealed so little, the thought of what lay ahead filled her with dread.

  ‘I’ll keep the engine running,’ said Arie. ‘If I have to, I’ll ram anything that tries to block us.’

  He’d be shot, and he knew it, and maybe he wanted this, especially if she and Emmi were taken, but when told at 3 rue Vercingétorix of what was to come, he hadn’t objected, had simply reached out to her and had said, ‘If it has to be, then that’s what we’ll do.’

  But now? she wondered. Was it all to be but a desperate gamble, Blitz uniforms or not, forged letters too?

  ‘Sitting here won’t solve things,’ said Emmi.

  There were no suitcases waiting at the kerb, and when that little light above the door went out, the gates behind them began to close.

  For some time now, nothing further had been heard from Hermann or from Kleiber. Though not necessary, St-Cyr knew he couldn’t help but say, ‘Oil of vitriol is most unkind, Kriminalrat. In situations such as this it is very doubtful if even immediate assistance would be of any use.’

  Irritably flinging his cigarette away, Ludin turned on him. ‘Verdammter Franzose, is it that you think I haven’t realized that? If Kleiber’s killed, I’ll be blamed far more than anyone. There have been no such screams.’

  ‘Ach, that is precisely what I’m implying: Das auslösende Element.* Had you counted them, you would have discovered that there were originally thirty-two jugs of that acid in those rows over there against that wall. Circles in the dust indicate that six have been removed.’

  ‘And since two have surfaced, four remain unaccounted for.’

  Sickened by the sight, Kohler let his gaze sift carefully over everything as light from the torch glinted from the bottles. Upright on a bricked recess in the lateral, two of them faced Kleiber whose back was to the opposite wall and who must have dropped his torch. A third was right above the colonel, a fourth just upstream and weighting down the makeshift raft on which it rode.

  Wired, and with another of the white time pencils ticking its little life away, this fourth bottle had two 8-ounce cartridges of Nobel 808 taped to it.

  The voice that came was far from steady.

  ‘Kohler, I’m caught on something.’

  ‘Ach, don’t try to talk. It’s a loose strand of barbed wire and it’s hooked to the back of your waders.’

  ‘HE’S A SADIST! CORROSIVE BURNS AND UTTER AGONY, ARE THOSE WHAT HE WAN
TS?’

  ‘Easy. Just go easy, eh? Try not to move or we’ll both go up.’

  ‘I’ve shit myself.’

  ‘I would too.’

  Slowly, carefully, deliberately, felt Kleiber, Kohler got his hands around behind until there was but the embrace of death.

  ‘It’s rusty, Standartenführer. Made to look as if just something that had been tossed in here years ago.’

  ‘The Reichssicherheitshauptamtchef is demanding that we get these Banditen, not just the diamonds. Both will put you back on your feet. Loyal to the Führer, Kohler; loyal to the Greater Reich.’

  ‘And Oona and Giselle?’

  ‘Our Heinrich has made far too many mistakes already. That was one of them, and I will personally see that it is corrected and they are returned.’

  The lying son of a bitch, but there was no sense in worrying about it now. First one barb was freed and then another, but the mush of hair and hides in the main channel was causing the water here to back up and rise, only to then suddenly fall, and this last hook just couldn’t be freed. Not yet. ‘There’s unfortunately a little something else, Standartenführer.’

  Under probing fingertips that barbed wire had been fixed to another that was plain and not rusty and ran up the bricks behind Kleiber and across the top and down to those two bottles, behind which was yet another eight-ounce cartridge of the 808 but not a time pencil. Here, and leaning a little to one side so that its hand-clasp would definitely slip away, was a No. 36 British Mills grenade. Pull the pin and count but remember there are only four seconds until its spring-loaded striker detonates it.

  ‘Standartenführer, I can’t defuse this. I haven’t another pin nor could I pull the one out and insert another fast enough even with the torch in my teeth.’

  ‘Free me then. Once this is cleared, we’ll find out what that bastard was hiding.’

  ‘A cache of weapons, a wireless set, who gives a damn? Just bugger off while you can, now that I’ve unhooked you and not hooked myself.’

  ‘Before you reached me you shouted something about St-Cyr and that Netherlander.’