by S C Brown
Paul was worried he was getting to the point where he was going to make a costly mistake and said as much to his father.
Saxon agreed and had to admit it, it was now very likely that the Germans would in all probability have a description of himself by now. Saxon’s problem was that his latest instructions from London were telling him to get on with more raids but he couldn’t do that if it risked destroying Clement’s organisation, the strengthening of which was his entire mission.
Eventually, after much discussion, they agreed on a compromise. Clement’s men were going to attack the railway again, in exactly the same place as last time, only a couple of days after the repairs there had been completed. The job could be done with fewer men and if they used the Morneau farm again, there was no one left there to be killed. Clement agreed to ask his contact in the railway office to find out which trains would have a German, not French, driver and fireman.
* * *
‘This afternoon, Colonel.’ A weary-looking Lieutenant Schmidt responded to Colonel Brunswick’s question, stood next to the newly repaired railway tracks. Schmidt had received way too many visitors for his liking, however this Colonel, unlike the countless others before him, had come especially from the Governor General’s office in Paris, the Militärbefehlshaber in Frankreich, to offer help more than simply pry and complain.
‘What was good about this attack, and as an Engineer I have to credit the Resistance with this, was that they knew how I would fix the line after they’d hit it. They must have known I would need a crane to make my repairs and that’s why they destroyed them. Mining the track after they had blown the track - that was the clever bit. So was how they laid out the initial explosive charges, it demolished the train and the track, normally, they only get the bit about destroying the train right. This is something new to me, Colonel, and believe me, me and my boys have patched up more railways these last few months than I care to remember.’
‘Forgive me, Lieutenant, but if you had really thought about it, wouldn’t you have worked that out for yourself if it was you planning such an attack?’
‘Yes and no. Yes, I would have worked out that mining the track would keep the line closed for much longer but I doubt that many people know just how few cranes we have. It must have been some kind of insider job to know that.’
‘You admire these people?’
‘Admiration’s a dangerous word in this war, Sir.’
Brunswick realised that this man may only be a Lieutenant but he certainly understood how to survive with Nazis about. ‘But any engineer would tell you, it’s difficult not to appreciate the work of another.’
‘So we’re looking for a man who knows explosives and knows his railways.’
‘Or a group of people who know that.’
Brunswick stretched his arms out forward, ‘How do we stop this kind of attack happening again? More guards?’
‘No. There are loads of places like this that are just as easy to attack. I could point them out to you on a map, no sweat. Defending them all is impossible unless you literally swamp this place with soldiers and even I know we haven’t got enough troops for that. Our best defence is to find the man or group of men who did this. Also, random patrolling might just make him think twice.’
‘I can’t help but notice, Lieutenant, that you keep saying him, not them.’
‘I suppose I do,’ said Schmidt thoughtfully. ‘This is the work of an expert, one expert. He’s like nothing I’ve seen before. This is someone new doing something new.’
Bingo, thought Brunswick to himself. The only place to learn new demolition techniques would be in England. This was almost certainly the work of the agent he had been sent to locate. He continued: ‘Well, I understand the hunt for him is already underway.’
‘Glad to hear of it, Sir. They’ve arrested one man, I hear. Was it him or just an accomplice?’
‘I don’t know, I am off to visit Police HQ directly after this but I doubt I would be able to share what I find out with you.’ Brunswick smiled warmly, if not a little patronisingly.
‘I understand.’ Schmidt turned away. ‘Now, if you will kindly excuse me, Colonel, I have some last details to attend to.’
‘Fair enough, I will walk with you.’ They both turned to walk towards the bridge.
‘How heavy is all this stuff? I mean, the things you would need to carry out an attack like this?’
‘All of it man-portable, for certain. A medium sized rucksack would do it.’
‘So easy to transport and easy to hide, is that what you’re saying?’
‘Yes.’
Brunswick smiled. ‘I thought you’d say that.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’d better be going.’
‘Will you be staying in Rouen tonight, Sir?’
Brunswick smiled to himself. ‘Most definitely, Lieutenant, most definitely. The company there is proving very … hospitable.’
* * *
Eve drained her second cup of coffee and got up to leave the café on Avenue Kléber. Berner was nowhere to be seen today. Eve declined Franck’s desire to walk her home and instead stepped out into the light shower to start her journey home. Eve was determined not to forget Sergeant Major Hook’s lessons lightly. Spending all day in the café, fending off the hopes of a small army of waiters was getting tedious; it was also too routine, too predictable. Eve broke the pattern in her route home.
Every day, Eve would walk to a different Metro station, take a train in one direction, double-back and then change trains at least once more, before coming up to street level quickly and then descending to take another train. The Metro was no way to see Paris but it gave Eve an easy view of anyone following her. As a final fail-safe, and as a bit of a treat, Eve would then rush into a favourite department store or boutique, where she would scan clothes, shoes, jewellery. It was quite easy to spot anyone following her doing this, especially if it was a man following her. Business and pleasure, she reminded herself with a wry grin. And only when Eve felt safe, would she nip into a changing room, turn her reversible coat inside out, or put on the spare that she sometimes carried in her bag and change her headscarf before heading straight for the exit. She would then change buses randomly on the way home.
It all took Eve back to her pre-war days, trying on expensive clothes and looking at the boys as they passed by through the wide, tall windows. Grimy London had something to be desired when compared to the City of Lights, even in a war. Despite the war, the finer shops were just as she remembered them.
A brilliant blue dress caught Eve’s eye. She stopped, scanned from the corners of her eyes for anyone watching her before moving across to look at it closer. There was no one around except Eve and a tall, slender, woman in her twenties with auburn hair.
‘Meredith? Meredith, is that you?’
Eve went cold. Choosing not to react, Eve put the dress down and started walking. Quickly.
‘Meredith!’ The voice was smooth, low but getting louder.
Eve had a choice, keep walking and run the risk of having her real name shouted across the shop, or to turn to get a proper look at this woman. Eve turned.
‘It is you! My God, I cannot believe it. My darling, how are you?’
Draped in a flowing and fashionable coat, the hint of the perfect figure beneath it and the demure tone of her voice meant that it could only be one person. ‘Charlotte?’
‘Yes!’ she replied enthusiastically, stepping closer. ‘Well, it’s Lotti now, actually,’ she beamed, clasping Eve lightly on both shoulders before kissing her twice. Eve froze for a second, wondering how best to respond to her old friend, and, after a couple of seconds of palpable uneasiness, Eve decided to play along.
‘I seem to have taken you quite by surprise! Are you alright?’
‘Yes, yes, I am fine, Lotti, I’m just a little, well, as you say, surprised to see you.’
‘Me too!’ replied Lotti, brimming with friendliness and a little affronted that her warmth was not being reciprocated. ‘Well,
’ continued Lotti, ‘It’s been ages. What since … 1939?’ She dropped her voice as she guessed the reason for Eve’s sudden return. Lotti changed the subject instantly. ‘What do you think, it’s a beautiful dress isn’t it? Just beautiful. It would look good on you, you know.’ She held the dress up against Eve. Eve looked down, impressed, this beat anything she’d seen in London over the last couple of years.
Lotti raised her eyes to Eve’s. ‘You know, you haven’t changed a bit. Let’s get out of here, somewhere where we can sit and catch up.’
Eve wondered if Lotti had guessed everything but getting out of the shop and away from prying eyes was just what Eve wanted right now. At least Lotti had stopped using her real name.
‘That sounds a wonderful idea, where should we go?’ asked Eve.
‘Well, we could try Maxims. Plenty of German officers there!’
‘Perhaps somewhere else?’ asked Eve quickly.
The look of concern in Eve’s eyes had said it all. Lotti smiled mischievously as her suspicions were confirmed: Lotti’s old school friend was a secret agent.
‘Yes, perhaps you’re right.’ Lotti pretended to study her wristwatch. ‘At this time of day, we’d be lucky to get a table. I know, let’s head back to my place and get a drink.’
Eve’s shoulders drooped a little in relief. ‘That would be lovely.’
‘Agreed!’ Lotti linked her arms through Eve’s. ‘Now let me pay for this and … let’s get you something glamorous as well whilst we’re here. Don’t worry, it won’t take long, I’ve got just the thing in mind for you, don’t you worry!’
They left both carrying bags, earning resentful looks from the corners of other women’s eyes as they stepped out onto the street, again arm in arm. Eve gave a little look behind her. There was no one there. After a long wait, a taxi pulled up.
‘So, Lotti, how come you’ve changed your name?’ asked Eve once they were inside.
‘My name? Come on, girl, that’s simple: Lotti sounds more German.’
Eve’s arm stiffened and Lotti patted it calmly.
‘Don’t you worry about me, Eve,’ Lotti winked. ‘I’m not one of them. No. Face it, the only eligible men left in Paris are either in a factory, over forty, or German. So I … make hay while the sun shines, so to speak. Their cellars are well stocked, they appreciate a lady, fine music and enjoy a dance like the rest of us. I’m having tremendous fun,’ she giggled flirtatiously. ‘The only difference,’ Lotti continued, ‘to 1939 is the men are wearing German uniforms, not French. It’s something that doesn’t make me too popular with the other girls but I just smile and keep the party going. Darling,’ Lotti purred over her shoulder to Eve, ‘there’s still a few of us left showing our invaders the delights of the city. I suppose I just couldn’t bring myself to leave or lock myself away for the duration.’
Eve caught the driver giving Lotti a dirty look.
‘What about your parents?’ asked Eve.
‘They are fine and in Switzerland. They begrudgingly agreed to fund my lifestyle here and so here I can stay, Germans or no Germans.’ Lotti’s scarlet lips parted joyfully. Eve glanced at her watch.
‘Somewhere else to be?’
Eve thought for a moment. ‘Actually, no.’ They were approaching the road Lotti lived on. ‘I tell you what, let’s get out here and walk the rest.’
‘Agreed.’
With the cab drawing away into the distance, Lotti couldn’t help but smile widely at the spy-like evasions Eve was making.
‘Fancy a night in? We could tell each other all the adventures we’ve had since we last saw each other.’ Lotti’s smile suggested Eve may have more adventures to tell than she did.
Eve realised that to continue the pretence would be ridiculous. As they rounded the corner, they agreed that dinner and plenty of wine would be in order this evening. When safely indoors, Lotti found out that she wasn’t the only one who had had a name change and, to her credit, Lotti didn’t called Eve by her real name ever again.
‘I wonder if I can find this girl Eve an Adam whilst she’s here in Paris?’ asked Lotti after dinner.
That gave Eve an idea.
* * *
Two immaculately dressed Germans sat on opposite sides of a disappointingly practical desk in Rouen. One was an officer, the other was only dressed as one. Brunswick oozed upper-class Wehrmacht urbanity, whilst Ritter, unsure of himself in front of such people, sat awkwardly. Also, Ritter had something on his mind.
Whilst waiting for Ritter to appear, Brunswick had taken a moment to study Ritter’s office. Behind him hung a huge portrait of the Fuhrer, fist clenched. A copy of Mein Kampf was in pride of place on the mantle-piece, flanked with two photographs of Ritter posing with his men. One of them could only have been on the Eastern Front. On a shelf stood Ritter’s record collection and gramophone. Brunswick could see Strauss, Wagner, Bruckner and von Karajan. It was the Third Reich’s authorised record collection. Ritter, thought Brunswick, only listened to the sort of music he was supposed to.
‘Have we not met before, Colonel?’ Ritter asked now that he had settled into his chair.
‘Not that I know of, no. But I did have the opportunity to see you carrying out your duties in Place Saint-Vivien yesterday.’
Ritter smiled. ‘Not one of them got away in the end. Some went in trucks to Germany, some went into the ground. They shouldn’t have run.’
Brunswick thought it best to remain silent, unsure of how Ritter would react.
‘Notification of your arrival came earlier this morning, Colonel Brunswick. I struggle to see what Abteilung IIID, even from the MBF’s staff, can do to help me here in Rouen. As you can see, I have everything under control, I have made a full report to Obersturmbannführer Kruger in Paris on yesterday’s activities. I have another round-up of prisoners planned for the STO tomorrow and later today, I will be raiding Rue Saint-André. There are some Jews there. You may also have noticed on the way in, Colonel, we have plenty of locals queuing up to inform on their neighbours.’
‘Actually,’ replied Brunswick, ‘I came about the attack on the railway. It’s caused some considerable disruption to construction work and the movement of troops to the coast. The MBF is most concerned that-’
‘I have control of that situation also. I have a man in the cells and my prisoner may yet prove useful. He’s … under interrogation.’
‘Is he talking?’
‘Not yet. He will.’ Ritter remembered to look at his watch. ‘In fact, I will be interrogating him soon, so you will forgive me not being able to give you too much time today?’
Nice diversion, thought Brunswick.
‘So you have a man in custody. Any other leads?’ What Brunswick really wanted to know is whether Ritter was listening to any British radio traffic in the area.
Ritter wasn’t playing. ‘Let me remind you, I don’t have to share anything with the Abwehr, Colonel. This is an SD matter and I am leading it.’ Ritter’s chest swelled a little: an SS Lieutenant telling an Army Colonel where to go.
‘I know the protocols but this business is having an effect on Army business. We are getting concerned. Perhaps a team effort may yield results faster? As I say, General von Kettler is personally keen to get the railways secure in this sector.’
Ritter snorted. ‘How could the Army, full of holes as it is, possibly help me? I have everything I need; I have a small army of informants all of my own. This matter will be dealt with by the SD and will be dealt with faster than if the Abwehr was left in charge. I suggest you take up the matter with my Obersturmbannführer if you wish when you have safely returned to Paris this afternoon.’
Brunswick thought Ritter was overdoing it but he let him go on. Maybe Ritter would reveal more that Ritter intended. Brunswick decided to stroke Ritter’s ego like a cat.
‘Make no mistake, Lieutenant, your reputation precedes you and we have every faith in your detective skills. However, what with all that rounding up for the STO and all those Jews…’
> ‘Don’t patronise me, Colonel. And I am not a Lieutenant, I am a Hauptsturmführer, I urge you to get it right.’ Ritter was angry.
‘Careful, Ritter. I am a Colonel, please address me with the respect my rank deserves. Come now, let’s not bicker; instead, let’s cooperate.’
Ritter leapt to his feet, screaming, ‘YOU – HAVE – NO – AUTHORITY – HERE!’
Brunswick’s eyebrows shot up.
Ritter rounded his desk, his fists clenched. ‘This is an SD matter and I AM IN CONTROL! Your railway is open and will remain open, Colonel, tell Paris that! I will kill as many people as necessary to keep that railway open, UNDERSTAND?’
Ritter pulled down at the edges of his tunic.
Brunswick remained utterly still, waiting for Ritter to blink first. But he wouldn’t. Ritter just stood there, his breathing returning to normal.
The thing was that Ritter was right. No Wehrmacht officer, no matter how senior, could tell an SS or SD officer what to do.
Wary of the limits of his power, Brunswick stood up to leave but wanted to bait Ritter a little. ‘I will report your behaviour to your superiors. This is unfortunate because what I will say is that the Abwehr in this sector tell me they have detected other Resistance activity in the city. If you continue to remain uncooperative, then I will only share my intelligence with my Abteilung in Paris and not with you. Wouldn’t it be embarrassing if I unearth something you don’t?’
‘What? What do you know?’
‘Ah, in light of your little outburst there, I think I’m keeping all that to myself for a little while. Do enjoy your interrogation.’ And with that, Brunswick left before Ritter exploded. Brunswick could hear a chair being kicked over as he hurried out of Police HQ.
Once outside, Brunswick returned a salute from a passing soldier, sucked in some cold February air and promptly lit a cigarette and collated his thoughts. Ritter was not a talented detective in the slightest. What had Ritter told him? He’d said he’d made one arrest – one! Despite all the informants he bragged about having. There was no mention of any radio intercepts. Brunswick figured that even though Ritter looked the part, he might just lack the imagination required for this kind of work. What Ritter was good at was gunning unarmed workers down in the streets. Brunswick had to admit it, Berner had chosen well in picking Rouen – Brunswick and Berner stood a better chance of getting to a British agent than anywhere.