V for Vengeance

by Dennis Wheatley

  As he was taken downstairs in the lift to the first floor Kuporovitch’s brain was racing overtime. All the afternoon he had cudgelled his wits without result, and now it seemed that the sand in the hour-glass of his fate was about to run out without his being able to make use of the little time left to him.

  Only one thought that might possibly provide an avenue of escape offered itself. He still had over four thousand francs in French money on him. In Russia, provided one could satisfy their price, many officials were fairly readily bribable. That was a custom of centuries, which had survived from the old days, and even Stalin had found it impossible entirely to eradicate. Kuporovitch had always heard that French officials, too, were often susceptible to reason if their palms were properly greased. Four thousand francs was not a fortune, but in these difficult times it was quite a useful sum.

  The inspector led him along a corridor, and having knocked on the door beckoned him forward into a spacious sitting-room that had now been converted into an office. The curtains had not yet been drawn or the lights lit, so the dusk obscured the features of the man who was seated at a big desk with his back to one of the tall windows.

  As Kuporovitch advanced towards him he prayed to all the gods he had never worshipped to aid him now, as he felt convinced that in this interview lay his last and only chance of escaping deportation, and death at his journey’s end.

  6

  S O S to Gregory Sallust

  ‘This is the man that you wished to see, mon Colonel,’ said the inspector, saluting, and at a nod from his superior he saluted again and left the room.

  Kuporovitch heaved a sigh of relief. He had feared that the inspector would remain, and he knew very well that no senior officer would accept a bribe in the presence of his junior, but now that he had been left alone with the police chief his hopes rose that he might yet be able to buy his freedom.

  His eyes were now more accustomed to the dusk, and they swiftly took in everything which could be assimilated about the officer in whose hands his fate lay. The Colonel was a small man who sat with downcast head, apparently staring at his hands, which were clasped over his stomach. Then he looked up, and even in the twilight it could be seen that his face was wrinkled and monkey-like, with a pair of very quick dark eyes, as he rapped out by way of interrogation: ‘Your name is Ivan Smernov?’

  ‘Oui, mon Colonel’ replied Kuporovitch promptly.

  Suddenly the little man chuckled and waved one hand towards a chair. ‘Sit down, please, General Stefan Kuporovitch. I am so sorry that I have had to put you to so much inconvenience to get you here.’

  With a gasp of surprise Kuporovitch stared anew at the small figure behind the desk. Gone were the silver curls and the black cassock, but the voice, the wrinkled face and the piercing black eyes were those of the little priest.

  For a moment the Russian could hardly believe his eyes, although he continued to strain them in the gathering darkness, but the little Colonel chuckled again:

  ‘You recognise me now, eh?’

  ‘Indeed I do!’ muttered Kuporovitch. ‘But what the devil are you doing here?’

  The Colonel stood up abruptly. In a series of swift jerky movements he pulled the blinds and switched on the lights, then he replied:

  ‘When I was asked that question in Paris the other night by one of my ex-subordinates who had gone over to the enemy I found it so embarrassing that it cost him his life; but here I do not find it embarrassing at all. This is my own office, and everybody in this building takes his orders from me. I am Colonel Lacroix.’

  ‘Lacroix!’ Kuporovitch repeated with a great sigh of relief. ‘Then you are the famous Chief of the Deuxième Bureau and must have the power to prevent my being deported to Russia?’

  ‘Of course.’ The Colonel sat down again and pushed forward a box of cigarettes. ‘I am sorry that you should have been distressed by the idea that we meant to do so, but you will appreciate, General, that my position here is one of extreme delicacy. When the collapse came I decided that I could serve the cause which we both have at heart far more effectively by remaining as a high official under the Government that had betrayed France than by going into hiding. Everyone here believes me to be entirely loyal to the Pétain Administration. That is why I could not risk having you brought straight from the frontier to my office. I had to allow matters to take their normal course in order to provide an excuse for an interview with you, such as I always have with all foreigners who are about to be deported.’

  ‘You knew that I was being expelled from Occupied France, then?’

  ‘Certainly. There was much that I still wished to say to you when our talk at the Vieux Logis was so regrettably cut short. It was obvious that both Mademoiselle Lavallière and yourself would be taken to the Sûreté for questioning, and I was anxious that no harm should come to either of you. In consequence, I arranged matters with Lieutenant Ribaud, who is entirely loyal and one of my most trusted agents.’

  ‘Aha!’ grinned Kuporovitch. ‘I remember—the short dark fat man. It was he who suggested to the German major that Mademoiselle Madeleine should be released and that I should be put over the frontier.’

  Lacroix nodded. ‘He did that on my instructions. Had he not, they would almost certainly have detained you, whereas, as it is, they sent you here, which enables me to continue the conversation which I was anxious to have with you. But we will not talk further here, as one cannot be too careful. May I take it that you are prepared to accept my orders and follow such instructions as I may give you for the furthering of our mutual interests?’

  ‘Certainement, mon Colonel,’ Kuporovitch bowed. ‘I should consider it an honour to serve under you.’

  ‘Good! In that case, we will leave at once. You must be in Lyons by tomorrow morning, and there is someone that I wish to see tonight who is staying in an hotel no great way off the direct road there. My car is below, so you shall come with me, and we will dine and sleep at the hotel.’ Lacroix picked up the telephone on his desk and asked for the inspector who had brought in Kuporovitch to be sent along to him.

  When the inspector arrived the Colonel told him that on interrogating the prisoner he had found that the man might prove of considerable use to them on a matter that required immediate attention. Kuporovitch could hardly conceal his joy at the unexpected turn affairs had taken as he followed the Colonel downstairs and drove away with him in his car.

  A glass screen prevented the military chauffeur from overhearing anything that they might say, and as soon as they were settled Kuporovitch said: ‘Tell me, mon Colonel, how is it that you come to know my real name?’

  ‘A mutual friend of ours told me about you in some talks we had before the collapse,’ smiled Lacroix. ‘You worked with him in Norway and Belgium, and it was you who got his chère amie away to England from the beaches of Dunkirk.’

  ‘Ah!’ exclaimed the Russian. ‘You mean Gregory Sallust?’

  ‘Yes, it was the good Gregory who told me of your adventures together, but it was only through some tactful enquiries, which I made about the Lavallières from the wife of their concierge, that I learned you were still in Paris. Your name rang a little bell in my mind, and I heard from Madame Bonard the story of your accident. Then I remembered that Madeleine Lavallière was the name of the nurse who telephoned reports to me about Gregory during his illness, and the whole thing fitted in.’

  They were leaving Vichy and taking a road which led through the dark countryside to Roanne, as Kuporovitch asked: ‘Have you heard anything of Gregory?’

  ‘No. But it is about him that I wish to talk to you. This nation-wide conspiracy which I am attempting to organise requires a great deal of very careful planning if it is to have the maximum effect. All Frenchmen except a very few were for a time robbed of their wits from the shock of the appalling fate which had so suddenly overtaken their country. There was a time when even the most stout-hearted of us felt that Britain must give in, so that all open resistance to the enemy would be bro
ught entirely to an end.’

  ‘Isn’t that still a possibility?’ Kuporovitch said a little doubtfully. ‘According to the Germans, the Royal Air Force has been almost entirely wiped out in these past few weeks, and the British cities are now taking a terrible hammering. How long will they be able to stand up to that?’

  Lacroix spread out his hands. ‘It is impossible to say. The situation is still critical, and at any time Britain may be called upon to face a supreme crisis, owing to a German invasion, but in other respects things are by no means so bad as the Nazis would have us believe. The R.A.F. has suffered severely, as any Air Force must which has the whole of the Luftwaffe directed against it, but these British airmen are terrific—absolutely unbelievable. Although the odds are ten to one against them it is they, and not the Germans, who are proving the terror of the skies. The reports which I receive are absolutely reliable. I am certain of that because they are checked by a dozen secret sources before they reach me, and for every British plane that the Nazis have been shooting down they have been losing five themselves.’

  ‘Mon Dieu, what valour!’ Kuporovitch cried, his dark eyes sparkling.

  ‘Yes—and as yet, thank God, they show no signs of tiring. Only yesterday, Sunday the 15th of September, a date which I believe the world will have cause to remember, the greatest air battle so far waged in history took place over London and South-East England. It resulted in the destruction of 185 German aircraft, which were actually seen to crash—not counting the scores of others which must have failed to get home or been too seriously damaged to be used again—for the loss of 30 British aircraft and only 15 of their pilots, as the others baled out and came down safely on their own soil.’

  ‘Stupendous!’ Kuporovitch muttered. ‘Stupendous! Is it also untrue then that London and many other British cities have been practically razed to the ground?’

  ‘In certain areas the damage has been very extensive, but by far the greater part of London is still standing. These Nazi swine have succeeded in killing and maiming several thousand non-combatants, of course, but it now seems certain that they have made a cardinal error in going in for indiscriminate bombing. By doing so they thought to terrify the civil population into peace riots, but in that they have failed entirely, as the British are more strongly united under Churchill than ever. The most encouraging thing about the situation is that these ferocious attacks have had practically no effect at all on the British war effort. I have it on the best authority that over ninety-five per cent of Britain’s war factories have so far survived the blitz and remained totally unharmed.’

  ‘You think there is a real chance, then, that Britain may be able to carry on the war for an indefinite period?’

  ‘I hope so. In any case, it is this continued resistance by Britain which has now caused Frenchmen in both Occupied and Unoccupied France to form themselves into two opposite camps. Many of them see no hope of peace for years to come, except by a German victory, so they are beginning to give the Germans full collaboration. Others, like myself, who know that there can be no freedom for France until the Nazi menace has been destroyed, are now prepared to aid the British in their struggle by every means that lies in their power. Sufficient time has elapsed for everyone to think matters out for themselves and to take sides, even when they consider it wisest to keep their own convictions secret from their neighbours. But the material is now at hand from which we can recruit a great army to work in secret against our enemies.’

  Kuporovitch nodded. ‘An enormous amount can be done if only sufficient numbers of people are willing to adopt an active policy of non-co-operation.’

  ‘True,’ agreed the Colonel; ‘but it is not sufficient merely to hinder the Nazis in small things. We must form our boldest spirits into sabotage squads, and if such squads are to inflict the maximum amount of damage upon the German Army of Occupation their objectives must be chosen in collaboration with the British.’

  ‘So as to relieve the pressure upon them wherever possible and assist them in the fight they are waging, eh?’

  ‘Exactly; and for that we must have as a liaison officer with the British a man of great courage, determination and resource!’

  ‘Gregory Sallust!’ said Kuporovitch quickly.

  Lacroix nodded. ‘Yes, it is Gregory that I have in mind, and I am anxious to discuss my plans personally with him at the earliest possible moment; but as it is out of the question for me to go to England he must come here to see me and carry my views back verbatim to his Government.’

  ‘Can you arrange that through your agents?’

  ‘No, that is just the difficulty. My agents in Britain continue to send me their reports through channels which it is unnecessary to specify, but they would do that in any case to the head of the Deuxième Bureau—whoever he was. As I have seen none of them since the collapse I do not know whom among them I dare trust with the very dangerous secret that I am now conspiring against my own Government and entering into secret negotiations with such a man as Gregory.’ The little Colonel turned to Kuporovitch and rested his hand on the Russian’s arm. ‘That is why it occurred to me that, since you know Gregory, if I send you to England you could see him for me and bring him back to France with you. Are you prepared to undertake such a mission?’

  ‘Nothing would please me better,’ replied the Russian with a chuckle.

  ‘Good! I can furnish you with the papers which will enable you to cross the Spanish and Portuguese frontiers, and from Lisbon you can get a plane. Unfortunately, however, you will be hung up there for some time as the airline to England is now very congested.’

  ‘If the matter is so urgent, could you not send me direct in a fishing trawler or seagoing motor-boat from one of the smaller French ports?’

  Lacroix shook his head. ‘That is beyond even my resources. The whole of the French seaboard is now occupied by the Germans; but you should have no difficulty in securing a small boat in England, and it would save us much valuable time if you return to France that way.’

  ‘Do you suggest that we should choose any lonely stretch of coast which we think suitable for our landing, or have you some special place in mind?’

  ‘Have you ever heard of a little place on the Brittany coast called Saint Jacut de la Mer?’

  ‘No,’ grunted the Russian; ‘outside Paris, I know only the Riviera of France.’

  ‘It is a tiny village near Saint Brae, situated a mile or so from the end of a long lonely promontory that juts into the bay. A further mile beyond the headland there is a small island, which even in daylight is concealed from the village by the configuration of the ground. The waters of the bay are very shallow, so that the tide runs out for a great distance, and when it is low it is possible to walk across the sands to the island; but at high tide a fair-sized boat can put in there without danger of running aground. In the middle of the island there is a great pile of rocks, so it should be quite easy to pick out in starlight, and among them are the ruins of an old castle, a small part of which has been patched up by a peasant who earns a precarious living cultivating a few acres of soil. His name is Henri Denoual. He is entirely reliable, and the place is so isolated that there is nothing there to interest the Germans. The password which you must give Denoual on your arrival to assure him of your bona fides is easy to remember, as it is that of the name of the Patron Saint of France—St. Denis. If you land at the island at night when the tide is high he will give you shelter until morning, then take you across to the mainland and set you on the road to Paris.’

  ‘It is to Paris, then, and not to Vichy, that you wish us to return?’

  ‘Yes. It is unnecessary for you to run the additional risk of crossing the frontier between the coast zone and Unoccupied France; since I shall be making fairly frequent trips to Paris.’

  ‘Very good, mon Colonel. Saint Jacut de la Mer is the name of the place, and Henri Denoual of the man. I shall not forget. How long do you think I am likely to be delayed in Lisbon?’

  ‘A week a
t least, possibly more. Then you will have to find Gregory and make arrangements for your return journey.’

  ‘If he has survived these bombings and is still in England that should present no difficulty. I shall go straight to his friend, the English milord, Sir Cust, who will be certain to know his whereabouts.’

  Lacroix smiled in the semi-darkness of the car. ‘You mean Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust. Yes, I was about to suggest that; but in any case it’s hardly likely that you will be able to make the return trip under a fortnight. I will send word to Denoual to be on the lookout for you any night after the end of this month, but I doubt if you’ll get back until well into October. And now, my friend, since I work all hours and am very tired, if you will permit me I shall snatch a short sleep.’

  While the car roared on through Roanne and thence by side roads through the Beaujolais the broad-shouldered Kuporovitch sat smoking thoughtfully in one corner of it, and in the other the funnny little man, hardly larger than a well-grown child, who was the great Chief of the French Secret Service, remained curled up, with his hands folded on his stomach and his chin resting on his chest.

  At length they came out on to France’s Route Nationale 6, between Macon and Lyons; then, having driven some way along it, they pulled up at a fair-sized building which stood on a lonely stretch of road and some way back from it. Lacroix roused himself and explained that this was the famous Compagnons de Jéhu, situated just half-way between Paris and Marseilles, at which in happier days many wealthy travellers had been accustomed to break their journey for one night when motoring to or from the Riviera.

  It was a modern building in the style of an old posting-house, but its principal recommendation in normal times was its excellent cuisine and the fact that it remained quite unknown to the masses of tourists who swarm over France in the summer months. Lacroix and Kuporovitch were received by its proprietor, Monsieur le Baron Paulin, who in the years of peace had built up an excellent connection for the place among his personal friends, and ran it more on the lines of a private guest-house than an ordinary inn.