The Talisman

by Allan Jones

  “Yes, she’s alive, and safe for the moment; but she’s in very grave danger. That’s why I’ve come. She sent for me and I will need your help; so listen while I explain. She never reached her contact in Rennes…,” he began, but Gaspar interrupted.

  “That cannot be! I took her there myself.”

  “Please,” Paul said, “let me continue.”

  He told the story quietly. Their faces darkened as the enormity of her situation dawned on them. They were rapt with attention and there were no more interruptions. Finally, Paul had finished and silence descended on the room while they digested the news.

  After a while, Lucille spoke. “Then what are we to do?” she asked no-one in particular.

  Paul let them think for a while, then spoke quietly. “You know where this place is?” he asked Henri.

  “Of course! It’s a few miles north of the city; everyone round here knows of it, most wish they didn’t. It’s become a place of fear; most avoid going anywhere near it,” Henri replied.

  “You can show me, perhaps, just drive by. I just need to see it, get my bearings. Shouldn’t be too dangerous.”

  Gaspar spoke. “I can take you,” he said, eyeing Henri, who thought for a while and nodded.

  “Can I stay here? I need a week, perhaps two, to make ready for what we have in mind.”

  “Of course,” Lucille replied. “You can have the bed she slept in.”

  Henri looked at Paul thoughtfully. “What is it that this ‘we’ have in mind?” he asked shrewdly.

  Paul told them all they needed to know of his plans and they were incredulous, asking question after question. Paul had to concede that Henri had been half-right about his nationality, and had to tell them some of his history. It made no difference: he could see respect beginning to dawn in them. Then Henri told him of the cache of weapons and explosives she had given them, and how she had promised to send them someone who could train them in their use.

  Paul was glad that she had managed so much and agreed, while he was here, to train them as best he could. Pru had argued that, since Amelia seemed to be in no immediate danger, Paul ought to assess whether these “friends” could be put to any use in assisting the plan and, if so, would they be any good afterwards? Gibbons had agreed. Paul was to take two weeks to get them up to speed as best he could. He had also insisted that Paul should, for the moment, keep the existence of this “cell” a very close secret, known only to himself, Pru and Paul.

  The radio, Paul determined, should be brought nearer to the farmhouse for when it would be needed; he hadn’t brought one of his own. If hers was lost, he would have asked for one of these new people to take a message to the Rennes cell and ask them to forward it to London, no questions asked. That would have been the extent of the Rennes involvement. London would have by now told them to expect a messenger armed with a code phrase, but now it was unnecessary: Paul could transmit direct. He was pleased, as it made security on this mission tighter.

  Lucille cooked a meal while they refined the details of the plan. Then they drank brandy late into the night, taking turns to dance with Lucille to music from the old gramophone. Henri and Gaspar caused gales of laughter as they danced with each other. They told jokes and stories, bragging about what they would do to the Germans, till finally the bottle was empty. Paul had drunk the least, but no-one had noticed; he knew he had to have a clear head in the morning.

  The next day he took the men to the barn. They all stripped to the waist and he fought each of them, then both together. They were both fit, strong men, but he bested them every time, though he collected a few bruises for his troubles. Then he set them against each other, teaching them the moves. They were able pupils; soon they had mastered the basics. He made Lucille don men’s clothes and taught her as well, though he had to be a little less rough with her.

  Gaspar and Paul collapsed with laughter at the look on Henri’s face as Lucille managed to heave him over her shoulder to send him crashing to the ground. Lucille dusted her hands as she gave Henri a playful kick. Then Henri roared with laughter, catching sight of the others, as Lucille strutted around, arms raised in triumph, her eyes glittering, a wide smile on her face.

  They took the weapons deep into the countryside and Paul set up some targets for them all to shoot at. Phillipe and Andre joined them. There was plenty of ammunition, as it originally had been meant to supply a much larger group, and another canister had been dropped with Paul; it was buried a few miles away till needed. Paul was able to be thorough and patient. He let them get used to the weapons in their own time. Later, in the farmhouse, he lectured them all in the use of the plastic explosive. They wanted to practise, but Paul refused, and he went over the same ground, time and time again, till he was sure they had all caught every detail.

  Every day was filled with the training exercises Paul had devised and every day he saw improvements in their ability. Every moment Paul was filling their heads, passing on every little detail he knew. What not to do! How best to do this, avoid that! Some of it was a repeat of the lectures Amelia had given, prompting complaints. They listened most closely when Paul gave them detailed knowledge of the German way! How they were most likely to react, how they were organised, how to recognise their uniforms, which were the highest ranks. When in battle, try to take out the officers and NCOs first, leaving the rest leaderless.

  Gaspar drove him all round the area in the truck and they took a trip to Rennes, Lucille armed with her shopping bag. They left her there and drove to the chateau, and past it, Paul noting every detail as they went. She was in there somewhere and her proximity made him feel anxious, lest she was, by now, in more danger than he knew. The return trip was uneventful and that night they went over the plan again and again; in two days more they were to put it into action.

  CHAPTER 12

  Amelia was sat at the dresser in her room at the chateau, putting the finishing touches to her make-up. There was to be a ball tonight and she would have to be at her best. She wore a white, strapless, off-the-shoulder, full-length ball-gown, long lace gloves on her arms. Her hair was piled high to show off his latest gift, a diamond tiara. She was dripping with jewellery: a necklace and ear-rings, rings on all her fingers. She thought it was a bit “over the top”, but Gunther liked all to see her in such finery and reflect on his wealth and power.

  She was growing more anxious; it had been weeks since she had managed to get to Picard’s dress shop, escorted by two soldiers. Usually the two Ukrainian women who had beaten her accompanied her on these shopping trips he now allowed her, but she had pleaded with him, saying, truthfully, that she was terrified of them.

  He had smirked, then acceded to her request. She had taken a couple of dresses into the fitting room, accompanied by one of Picard’s female assistants. There she had given the girl the envelope, telling her in hushed tones to give it to Picard, and to have him take it to the “Colonel”. Inside the envelope was another containing the photographs, sealed with wax. She had made the girl promise to tell Picard to ensure that no-one opened the envelope, but that it had to go to SOE as soon as possible. She had given the girl her code-name and the phrases she was to have used to Picard, had she made the original contact.

  The girl had been astonished, but had listened carefully. She occasionally raised her voice in sales talk for the benefit of the bored guards waiting outside, whilst Amelia hastened to get into one of the dresses. Then they’d left the fitting room together, Amelia had drifted to the mirror, the eyes of the guards following her, appraising her figure, which the dress accentuated. The salesgirl carried the envelope under another dress they had taken in, and had slipped unnoticed out to a back room.

  Amelia had taken her time, turning this way and that in indecision, till, finally, she saw, reflected in the mirror, Picard emerge and he gave an almost imperceptible nod. The Germans, screened by Amelia’s body, missed it! Amelia had smiled her thanks into the mirror and had declared that this dress would do; then she’d returned to the f
itting room to change.

  Tonight, she would have to endure endless dances with Germans. Gunther would have one or two, then he would enjoy himself, watching her dance with others. It was getting more difficult each day for her to keep up the act! To smile sweetly and flirt with them for Gunther’s benefit, whilst all the time her skin crawled when a German so much as touched her. There were plenty in the chateau who wanted her and who could not disguise their lust. Gunther rather enjoyed dangling her in front of them like a carrot on a stick. None of them would dare!

  She was his prize possession. Everyone was mortally afraid of him; on a whim, he could have any of them shot or worse!

  Amelia had no illusions, though. She was merely his toy, his plaything, his latest acquisition. She knew that, sooner or later, he would tire of her, get rid of her and replace her. She knew too much!

  If what she knew of him came out, he would be a laughing stock, the butt of cruel jokes, and his fury and vengeance would be deadly. The clock was ticking, time was running out. Paul had to come soon! He just had to!

  * * * *

  Sturmbannführer Wessendorf sat idly at his desk, having just completed his day’s work. He had put all the papers away in the safe, and was contemplating the evening ahead, when a knock came at his door. Irritated, he called permission to enter. His female secretary came in.

  “Excuse me, Herr Sturmbannführer, there is a majorwishing to see you; he’s come from Berlin.”

  Wessendorf was puzzled.

  “I am not expecting anyone… Have him wait for five minutes, then show him in,” he ordered.

  “He says it is a matter of the greatest importance,” the woman offered tentatively.

  “These people,” Wessendorf thought, “they think they can do anything! Mention Berlin and we’re all supposed to jump! Hah!”

  “Do as I say!” he shouted. “Now go!”

  The secretary rushed out as Wessendorf settled himself comfortably in his chair and rummaged in his drawer for some papers so as to pretend to be busy.

  The door flew open. Paul marched to the desk and gave his best heel-clicking “Heil Hitler”. Wessendorf was flustered, but managed the response. Paul put his briefcase on the desk with a thump and began to remove his long leather coat that covered the SS uniform he wore.

  “Forgive the intrusion, Herr Wessendorf, I am a busy man,” he said.

  “As am I,” Wessendorf said coldly, eyeing the upstart.

  Paul threw his coat over the nearby sofa, settled into his chair and opened his briefcase. He produced an envelope and tossed it over the desk to Wessendorf. “I suggest you read that carefully, Herr Sturmbannführer, then we can move on. But first, I am ordered to inform you that this is a matter of State, and that nothing of what goes on here today will leave this room, or there will be most unfortunate consequences.”

  He fixed Wessendorf with a cold glare.

  They locked eyes for a while, a test of wills, till Wessendorf shrugged and reached for a paper-knife and slit the envelope open. His eyes grew wide as he read.

  “You recognise the signature,” Paul stated flatly.

  “Reichsführer Himmler’s,” Wessendorf replied with wonder.

  “Indeed,” Paul said. “I am Major Hans Krueger, and that document orders you to extend me every assistance possible for the duration of my stay, and further that you ask no questions and that you keep your mouth shut about my business.”

  “I can see that,” Wessendorf said, further studying the document.

  “Then it is clear. The letter please.” He held out his hand.

  Wessendorf handed the letter back and Paul produced a lighter and set fire to a corner, letting it burn in his hand till he dropped the remnants into the ashtray and watched until they were entirely consumed.

  “Herr Himmler does not like to leave ‘souvenirs’ lying around,” he explained to a shocked Wessendorf.

  Paul settled back in his chair and eyed Wessendorf, before continuing. “Well, now that the unpleasantness is over, we can get down to business. Forgive me, Herr Sturmbannführer, I had explicit instructions, you see. We should relax now; a drink perhaps?” His tone was conciliatory.

  Wessendorf relaxed visibly. “Of course. Schnapps? Brandy?”

  He stood and went to the nearby drinks cabinet and produced two glasses. Paul asked for brandy and Wessendorf brought the bottle and glasses to the desk, sat down and poured. After each had sipped his drink, Wessendorf said,“So, no questions, eh!”

  Paul knew he had to play the next part very carefully, and paused as if in thought before he spoke. “No need. I will tell you all I can,” he said. “Herr Himmler has ordered me to make a snap inspection of the Luftwaffe base near here. I believe they fly Dorniers to bomb the British south coast ports.”

  Wessendorf forgot himself and asked, “But why…?”

  Paul cut him off. “Why would Herr Himmler send one of his SS men to inspect a Luftwaffe base? Come, Herr Sturmbannführer, isn’t it obvious?”

  He waited a while before continuing.“To annoy Reichsmarshal Goering, of course! A man in your position is surely aware of the, shall we say, animosity between them, their rivalry for the Führer’s good graces?”

  “Indeed, this is no secret.”

  Paul carried on. “It is fair to say that Herr Goering’s star has fallen somewhat since his ‘mighty Luftwaffe’ failed to defeat the RAF in order to pave the way for our invasion of England. Herr Hitler was furious with him. The Reichsführer wishes to rub his nose in it, so to speak, slow down his return to the Führer’s favour. In short, I am to go and scare the shit out of Goering’s intrepid airmen, return to Berlin and accompany Herr Himmler when he presents my report to the Führer. The report, by the way, has already been written by Herr Himmler. I will just add some local detail. It will say that they are sloppy and inefficient, discipline is lax, the ground crew are indolent, security is a joke. It will allude to the cowardice of the aircrews and allege that they drop their bombs into the sea long before the English coast and return to base, for fear of the RAF fighters.”

  “And do they?” Wessendorf asked.

  “Probably not,” Paul laughed. “In any case, that’s not the point; mud will stick, that is the point.”

  “Herr Goering will be furious,” Wessendorf observed, sipping his brandy.

  “It will be too late. All he could do is bluster and deny; it will sound like the usual excuses he makes whatever he says.”

  There was silence for a while as Wessendorf thought it over, as Paul sipped his brandy, watching.

  Finally, Wessendorf spoke. “Ah! Palace intrigue! Herr Goering will look like a blustering fool.”

  “A fat blustering fool,” Paul said with a wolfish grin. Wessendorf returned his smile.

  “Indeed, and Herr Himmler will no doubt be commended for his efficiency.”

  Wessendorf gave a guttural laugh. “The Reichsführer is indeed a very clever man,” he observed; “but what about you, my friend? It is surely not wise to be stuck in the middle of two such powerful men.”

  Paul shrugged.“The Reichsführer is famed for his generosity to those that please him,” he said. Then he leaned forward pointedly and fixed Wessendorf with his eyes. “And he is equally famed for his ruthless vindictiveness towards those that do not!”

  Wessendorf paled.“The Reichsführer knows I am loyal…,” he began.

  Paul interrupted. “Indeed he does.” He paused and leaned back to let that sink in, then continued, “He speaks well of you.” He had Wessendorf’s complete attention now.

  “He does?” Wessendorf sounded surprised.

  Paul knew he had him hooked and began to reel him in. “When he proposed this plan to me I asked him, why here? There are plenty of Luftwaffe bases, after all; anyone of them would do.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “He said it would need to be somewhere where his man on the ground would be completely trustworthy. That means you! He also said that, if he had fifty more men such as you, he could bring this cont
inent to heel in no time!”

  Wessendorf visibly inflated and beamed. “He really said that?”

  “He really did. He also sent his warmest regards and told me to tell you he would not forget you for this; indeed, he is prepared to be most generous.” Wessendorf’s excitement was palpable as Paul continued. “For myself there will be a promotion to Sturmbannführer, a soft posting for the duration of the war, and a considerable amount of money in a Swiss account. For you, who knows?”

  He could see Wessendorf’s mind racing, examining all the possibilities. He knew he had him now.

  “So you see, my friend,” he said softly, “we are both winners. Herr Goering loses, Herr Himmler wins and we win.”

  Wessendorf laughed and proposed another drink, which Paul accepted.“I would love to see Goering’s face; what a sight!” Wessendorf laughed.

  Paul laughed with him. “I will be there. I’ll telephone you and tell you what it was like. I hope I’ll be able to keep a straight face.”

  “Yes, you must! Pity I won’t be able to dine out on it, but there it is, eh!”

  “Perhaps, after the war, you could include it in your memoirs after Goering has fallen,” Paul said.

  Wessendorf became businesslike .“Yes, perhaps, but to business; how can I help?”

  “I propose to visit the base at 0800 hours tomorrow. I will need to borrow your car and I will need two of your most evil-looking troopers to accompany me; one will drive. On completion of my visit, they will take me directly to the railway station so that I can begin my journey back to Berlin immediately. The base commander will be ordered not to inform Herr Goering of what has happened until 48 hours have elapsed. If he does, he will be hanged, as will all his family; we have them in custody to ensure his compliance. Goering will be furious with him, but he can always plead ‘orders’, and Himmler has promised to reward him if he does his part correctly. You will need to make it crystal clear to the two troopers that they will never speak of this ever, to anyone, on pain of death.”