by S C Brown
The coffee arrived. Eve waited patiently for the waiter to be out of earshot once again. ‘Come on, out with it. ’
‘It’s Ritter who has my man Brunswick under arrest. Ritter has been closing in on an operation of mine for a while now. I’ve been tracking him from here but for whatever reason, my man Brunswick has been arrested. Maybe Brunswick has to go through the farcical investigation I had to, in which case he will be free in no time. But I can’t take that risk. If they get Brunswick to talk, well, you can guess who’s next. Brunswick mustn’t be forced to spill his guts, metaphorically or otherwise.’
Eve glared at him, evidently wondering what Berner was really up to. ‘Walter, what happens when Ritter is dead?’
‘What happens?’
‘Yes, with you and me.’
Berner stopped spinning the saucer, looked Eve square in the eyes and began to share his plan.
Chapter Eleven
‘He left the house at 2041 hours, Obersturmführer Ritter, and he’s a terrorist all right. All the telltale signs of good tradecraft were there: he doubled-back, changed pace, went round in circles, the lot. I had to work really hard to stay with him.’
‘Alright, alright, Wiegmann,’ blurted Ritter irritably. ‘If you did so well, how come you lost him?’
‘Simple. He got on a bike and outran me.’
‘Where did he go?’
‘East, but where he actually went is anyone’s guess.’
Ritter shot to his feet and raced to stare out of the window, tapping his feet in frustration. Wiegmann knew better and remained perfectly still for fear of incurring the wrath of Ritter.
Having gnawed at his bottom lip for a while, Ritter said, ‘I want you back at that house tonight to see what else happens, understand?’
Wide-eyed, Wiegmann nodded emphatically.
‘Maybe the house you’ve been watching is their radio station after all. If they do all their transmitting from there, the radio operator will probably be resident. If they use the same building to send all their messages from, they’re fools, Wiegmann, so you should get along well with them. Take a team and place the house under permanent but careful observation. The occupants must not know they’re being watched. Understand?’
‘Yes, Sir, of course.’
‘But it doesn’t quite make sense does it?’ Wiegmann knew his boss was almost certainly talking to himself and therefore this was one of those questions that he was not going to answer.
Ritter turned to look at Hitler’s portrait. ‘They know. They know only too well we can listen to their messages and trace their transmitters. Broadcasting from the same house just invites us to come and get them.’
‘That is true, Sir, but they’ve only just started transmitting from there. Maybe their new technique is to transmit from the same place for a couple of days and then change location just before we start to get onto them.’
Ritter stared at him with new respect. ‘Perhaps. Or it’s as simple as the radio operator is an old man and doesn’t like being moved around.’
‘Or maybe they’re feeling the pressure and making mistakes.’ Wiegmann felt his boss’s confidence in him regaining.
‘Get that house back under observation and report back.’
Wiegmann capitalised on the moment, turned for the door and was away.
‘Oh, and Wiegmann,’ said Ritter as he heard the door handle click.
‘Yes, Herr Obersturmführer?’
‘Take a fucking bike.’
* * *
Once again, Berner waited anxiously for Eve to arrive. It hadn’t been lost on him that Eve was no longer his agent, with him as the handler. Now they both seemed to be agent and handler at the same time. Eve came in, brushed the rain from her shoulders, ordered coffee as she walked past the waiter, and sat down.
‘This is starting to feel familiar, isn’t it?’ asked Eve, smiling mischievously.
Berner had to concede the point. ‘It is indeed. So, it’s on?’
‘It is. With all immediacy. Ritter has only a day or two to live. The local Resistance have been ordered to stage something to take care of it.’
Eve looked quite proud. Privately, she was stunned London had agreed to the request. Maybe, like Eve, London was just waiting and seeing what Berner was going to do next.
The relief in Berner was palpable. ‘That is good news. Great news, in fact. Now we need to get Brunswick out of prison.’
‘Hang on, Walter; did you just say ‘we’’?
‘Yes, I don’t think I will be able to do this on my own. So I turn to you. And a few others.’
‘But with Ritter dead, you’ve nothing to worry about have you? So no need to bust your man out of prison. Let’s face it, a jailbreak is only going to attract more unwanted attention from the SD office.’
‘There are plenty of men itching to take Ritter’s place, I assure you, and I don’t want anyone taking their grief out on my man Brunswick. No, Eve, this has to be a belt and braces operation. Brunswick has to come out of that prison now and go into hiding for a while.’
Whatever feeling of control over circumstances Eve thought she had was instantly gone.
* * *
‘So it’s on?’ asked Clement sat in his favourite chair in the kitchen, harbouring a glass of wine by the fire.
‘Yes,’ affirmed Saxon, ‘the attack has been approved by London. We are to proceed with the detailed plans now and start gathering and preparing the men.’
Clement clapped his hands together happily. ‘Good. The men are getting restless; dammit, I’m getting restless!’
‘The railway repairs are almost complete and so it’s the perfect time to strike,’ added Paul from the doorway. ‘Saxon and I have studied the ground and Saxon likes it.’
Clement looked from Paul to Saxon for confirmation.
Saxon nodded. ‘It’s a good site. Better than last time – a bit more remote, the valley is deeper, and it will be even harder for the Germans to repair the tracks after we’ve blown them up. Also, for a flourish, we could topple some boulders down onto the tracks.’ Saxon had a glint in his eye. ‘I recommend using the Morneau farm again. Yes, the Germans burnt it out but it’s still empty and there are no new tyre tracks on show. The Germans have left it as a shell and moved on.’
Clement grunted in acceptance. ‘Isn’t it a bit risky, you know, using the same launch point twice?’
‘I’m already having it watched,’ Paul replied. ‘Any sign of the Germans, we can change the plan and use somewhere else. I have a couple of alternatives.’
‘That’s settled then,’ said Clement across to Paul.
‘Not quite,’ said Clement, stirring from his thoughts once more. ‘What about Michel? Do we bring him back in for this attack or not? He’s been in hiding for some time; he’s getting better and stronger and louder. He’s going to cause trouble if we’re not careful.’
Paul did not hesitate. ‘We’d be better off without him. We still don’t know who betrayed the cache in Château de Vascoeuil, remember? Father, the man cannot be trusted. Something’s not quite right about how he was set free. I don’t want to take the chance.’
‘I say we send him back to Britain,’ chipped in Saxon, ‘maybe under the pretence of being sent for proper training before coming back to lead a unit of his own. Nowhere near here of course! It’s just what he always wanted and it gets him out of our hair.’
‘You don’t trust him either, did you?’ smiled Clement.
‘Paul’s right, there’s a bit missing from this jigsaw. We all suspect him, don’t we?’ Heads nodded. ‘Well, there it is then - we can’t trust him, we can’t keep him, we need to get rid of him.
‘Not only that, it’s a waste of men guarding him day and night. You’re going to need all the men you can for this attack and it will only take me a couple of days to arrange a pick up for him with London.’
A piece of wood cracked in the fire. Sparks shot up the chimney.
‘There’s something else,’ said
Saxon. ‘The Germans know about Xavier.’
* * *
Ritter shouted something quite rude and kicked his litterbin. Anyone in the corridor outside stopped to see what the commotion was whilst at the same time keeping a wary distance.
Ritter clutched a sheet of paper. It was his orders but they didn’t say what he was expecting. His orders told him to ask the Abwehr to cooperate. Ask! They were taking over the Abwehr in weeks not days. That meant Brunswick was a long way from being under Ritter’s control and still Brunswick sat in his cells. Ritter had miscalculated and needed a way out.
Ritter never liked orders that did not meet his expectations. He studied the letterhead and the eagle rubber stamp very closely. Annoyingly, this was not a fake. Ritter pushed his lips together and breathed out heavily through his nose, staring at the Fuhrer’s portrait for inspiration. Not even the Fuhrer was giving out the answers today, it seemed.
Dammit, he thought, Brunswick is up to something, he just knew it and Brunswick wasn’t all he was cracked up to be. Ritter was certain this Brunswick was a Sergeant dressed up as a Colonel. Ritter looked at the paper again.
This was an order, he told himself, that he was going to have to disobey.
* * *
Walking through the cemetery with her collar turned up against the cold, Eve took another newspaper proffered by Berner.
She slowed. ‘Who is it this time?’
Berner laughed. ‘No, this one isn’t a death sentence. It’s real intelligence.’
Eve flicked to the crossword. She looked around and, seeing as they were clearly alone, she asked: ‘Rommel’s coming here?’
‘Yes, believe it or not, Rommel and I were in the Wurttemberg Regiment together in the last war. His career was on a somewhat steeper trajectory than mine.’
‘So a famous Field Marshal is coming to Paris; so what?’ Berner was either handing her a complete lie or fast becoming an agent for MI6. Eve said a little prayer for the latter .
‘Rommel’s coming to inspect the defences of Northern France. I think your people would very much like to know that. I will make sure you get to see him. That way you’ll know I’m telling you the truth.’
‘You’re a spy, Walter, you don’t deal in the truth. People like me and you deal in everything else but.’
Berner sighed. ‘I understand. I’m giving you this piece of intelligence because this is one I can corroborate. I want you and everyone in London to believe me when I ask you to.’
They continued walking and Eve realized if Berner proved true about Rommel, then he may prove true about everything else. Reluctantly, Eve agreed to send the message but she didn’t trust him. Not yet.
* * *
Paul rushed into the room. ‘Hold fire! We are to receive an emergency signal tonight. It just come over the BBC broadcast!’
Clement, one face amongst many at the planning conference around the dining table, stared at him. The lamp from above cast a dark shadow across his face and beard. ‘The invasion?’
Everyone looked at Saxon who simply shrugged.
‘Will Xavier take the message?’
‘Ah!’ exclaimed Paul. ‘Xavier doesn’t know he’s being watched.’
‘What?’ snapped Clement.
Paul sighed and his head drooped. ‘I couldn’t get the message to him, I have a messenger on his way now to have another attempt. There was a German patrol in the area earlier.’
Everyone felt the tension in the room build.
‘It will be okay as long as Xavier does not transmit. London will send the message out and we just need to make sure Xavier doesn’t press his Morse key.’
* * *
An hour later and with sentries posted, Saxon unearthed the radio equipment he had buried in the woods. In the failing light, wearing a face of pure concentration, he unravelled the wire antennae, measuring it to the length required before laying it out between the trees. Saxon plugged in the enamel box containing the radio crystals and started to tune the radio in. It was fiddly; this was a Mark 2 radio set and the tiniest nudge on the tuning dial would throw the radio off frequency completely.
Clement, watching from a distance, said, ‘Time is short, Saxon, time is short.’
Judging by the response, so was Saxon’s temper.
‘Come on, come on.’
Saxon was fretting, he knew London was due to transmit within the minute. Try as he might, Saxon could not get the thing to tune. Saxon glanced about. ‘You’re standing on it, you idiots! Get off the aerial, take a step back.’
Everyone stepped back whether they were on the wire or not.
Not realising where he was standing, Paul took his feet off the aerial and Saxon’s radio set began to beep. The message came in thick and fast, with Saxon jotting everything down hurriedly.
Clement paced up and down, the most nervous Paul had ever seen him.
Before he could reply, Saxon heard Xavier acknowledge London’s message with ‘ROGER OUT.’
‘Uh.’ Saxon shook his head sadly.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Clement.
‘Xavier acknowledged the message. Our runner mustn’t have made it to him in time.’
‘Oh my God, he’s a dead man.’ Clement clutched his head despairingly. ‘Paul, why the hell didn’t your man get to him?’
Saxon began tapping away at his Morse key.
‘What are you doing?’ Clement was beside himself. ‘You’re transmitting in clear!’
‘I know,’ said Saxon calmly. ‘Xavier won’t have time to decode it anyway. I’m telling him to ship out now.’
Clement paced up and down, breathing heavily muttering repeatedly, ‘Come on, Xavier, come on.’
* * *
Xavier heard the message and packed away his radio as fast as he could. Then he heard the piano in the house opposite begin to play loudly. That was the signal: the Germans were coming.
Automatically, Xavier’s wife started to rip pages from the cipher book and throw it into the fire.
But it was too late: the front door fell straight in, the house filled rapidly with screaming Germans. Xavier’s wife found herself staring quite literally down the barrel of a rifle. She closed her eyes tight. The rest of the cipher book hit the ground just after she did.
Ritter walked forward and picked it up, smiling like the skull on his cap.
* * *
Saxon decoded the emergency message. Saxon read it through, blew out heavily and sat back. Over his shoulder, Clement read and swore lustily. They shared a knowing look. It was time to rethink the plan.
* * *
Eve fumbled in her handbag, looking for her pass. The sentry was getting impatient but looked as if he was willing to wait a bit longer for a couple of good-looking girls. Lotti presented her pass with a wide, coquettish grin. Eventually, Eve did the same.
All of a sudden, a few trucks pulled up and German soldiers leapt out. Eve’s heart rate began to race and it took every bit of her resolve not to flinch or show any real alarm. The sentry looked relaxed and not bothered one bit by the newly-arrived soldiers. Clearly, he was expecting them.
Eve watched the soldiers spread out to block the road ahead. She could see the Hotel Majestic beyond them. NCOs barked a few orders before calm was reinstated. An officer looked nervously at his watch. Drivers of the stopped traffic got out to see what was going on.
‘What’s this, officer?’ asked Lotti, in her most seductive tone.
The sentry fell for it. ‘You’ll see, in a moment.’
There was more shouting and then the clicking of heels as soldiers and officers alike came to. The sentry turned to face the Hotel Majestic and Eve heard his shoes click smartly together.
Two motorcycle outriders swept across the junction ahead, followed by a scout car and then a huge black Mercedes. A general’s face and hat stared out from the window.
‘Who’s that?’ asked Lotti, sounding impressed.
‘That is none other than Field Marshal Rommel. He’s come to
visit.’
Eve allowed herself a small smile. Berner’s word had proved true.
* * *
‘Michel, my boy,’ said Clement warmly, ‘come in, take a seat. Beer? Wine?’
Michel looked a little nonplussed but accepted the drink graciously.
When Michel was settled in a chair, Clement got to the point. ‘I will come straight out with it. We’re bringing you back in.’
‘You’re having me back?’ Michel sounded deeply sceptical, sipping the beer.
‘Yes. Your quarantine is over. I think getting you back into the action will do you some good.’
Michel nodded in reply.
‘Secondly, you’re going back to Britain to get some training. The Brits think that with a fair wind, you could be given a resistance network all of your own and we all know that’s what you truly want. You’ve wanted it for years. After what Ritter did to you, I think you’ve earned it. We will get you flown out soon but I don’t know exactly when. Before you go, I want you in on a raid we are doing on the railway tonight. What do you say to that?’
Michel was taking it all in as quickly as he could. ‘You’re getting rid of me?’
‘Hardly, Michel, no. We had to recommend someone to go for training in Britain. I thought a few nights out in London was the least we could give you after everything you’ve been through. And, you’re the only one here who’s withstood interrogation. London will be interested to know what you went through; they can put it into courses to train future agents. Frankly, I thought you’d jump at the chance.’
‘Provided what you say is true, then yes, of course I’ll go.’ Michel took another sip, studying closely the faces of those around him. ‘And there’s a raid tonight?’
Clement told him all about the railway attack he’d planned with Saxon. Michel nodded his approval. ‘I need to go and prepare,’ he said eventually.