by Jack Higgins
"Right, let's go over things," Rommel said.
"According to my information the people from Jersey will leave for Guernsey at around two in the morning. Berger and I will leave here in the Kubelwagen at nine. There is an empty cottage on the estate a kilometer from here where we stop for him to change."
"And afterward?"
"To a Luftwaffe reserve airstrip only ten kilometers from here. There is a pilot, an Oberleutnant Sorsa, waiting there under your personal order with a Fiesler Storch."
"Sorsa? Isn't that a Finnish name?" Rommel asked.
"That's right."
"Then what's he doing with the Luftwaffe? Why isn't he on the Eastern Front shooting down Russians with his own people?"
"Sorsa is hot stuff, a real ace. One of the greatest night fighter pilots in the business. These days he's of more use flying over the Reich knocking down Lancaster bombers. He's an excellent choice for this venture. He doesn't fit into the usual Luftwaffe command structure. An outsider."
"They don't like us very much, the Finns," Rommel said. "I've never trusted them." He lit a cigarette. "Still, carry on."
"Sorsa won't know his destination until we join the plane. I estimate we will land in Jersey around eleven o'clock. I've given orders for Headquarters of Army Group B to notify Berlin at noon that you've flown to Jersey. The reason for not letting them know earlier being the need to consider your safety when in flight."
"And what happens here?"
"Generals Stulpnagel and Falkenhausen arrive later in the day. Stay overnight and leave on Saturday morning."
"And you return in the evening?"
"Of course. This couple here at the house, the Bernards, will know you are here, but then they won't know you're also in Jersey. Neither will Sergeant Dreschler. He worships you anyway. An old desert hand. If there is any problem with him later, I can handle it."
Rommel turned to Baum. "And you, my friend, can you handle it?"
"Yes, Herr Field Marshal. I really think I can," Baum told him.
"Good." Rommel took the bottle of Dom Perignon from the ice bucket that Monsieur Bernard had brought in earlier and uncorked it. He filled three glasses and gave them one each. "So, my friends, to the Jersey enterprise."
Sarah and Martineau had spent an enlightening afternoon, driving to Gorey where she had intended to show him Mont Orgeuil, one of the most magnificent castles in Europe, only to find that it was now a heavily defended enemy strongpoint.
At Fliquet Bay, they had come across a party of slave workers cutting a new road through to a coastal artillery battery. They were the most ragged, filthy, undernourished creatures even Martineau had seen. He had made himself known to the sergeant in charge of the detail who told him they were Russians. It was particularly ironic, therefore, to discover a battalion of the Russian Liberation Army staffed mainly by Ukrainians, guarding the north coast around Bonne Nuit Bay.
They carried on to Grosnez with the few stones remaining of its medieval castle and spectacular views of Sark, Herm and Jethou, all reaching toward Guernsey. The interesting thing was that not once were they stopped or challenged, even when they drove along the Five Mile Road
following the curve of St. Ouen's Bay, which looked to Martineau like the most heavily defended stretch they'd seen.
It was evening when they stopped at the church at the end of St. Brelade's Bay. Sarah got out and he followed her. They stood in the archway and peered inside. There was an entire section devoted to the military, rows of crosses, each one at the end of a neat grave.
"I don't know what Christ would have made of those crosses," Martineau said. "There's a swastika in the center of each one."
She shivered. "I used to attend this church. I had my first communion here."
Martineau walked idly between the rows of German crosses. "There're a couple of Italians here and a Russian." He carried on, moving into the older section of the cemetery, passing between granite headstones and tombs. "Strange," he said. "I feel quite at home."
"That's a morbid thought," Sarah told him.
"Not really. I just find it extraordinarily peaceful and the view of the bay is sensational. Still I suppose we should be getting back now."
They got in the Kubelwagen and drove past the bay along Mont Sohier. Sarah said, "So, now you've had the guided tour. What do you think?"
"A tight little island."
"And how do we get Hugh Kelso off it?"
"To tell you the truth, I haven't the slightest idea, so if you can think of anything, let me know."
He carried on driving, whistling tunelessly between his teeth.
Dinner was a strange affair. Martineau and Sarah joined the officers in the main dining room. Guido Orsini, Bruno Feldt, Kapitanleutnant Erich Dietrich and several others. There was a fresh lighted candle at each empty place which Sarah found rather macabre, but the young officers were polite and considerate, would obviously have put themselves out even more if it had not been for Martineau's presence. He was wearing his uniform in deference to the formality of the meal, and its effect on the others had been definitely depressing. Helen de Ville passed in and out with the plates, and Sarah, bored with the stilted conversation, insisted on helping her to clear the table and joined her in the kitchen, where Sean Gallagher sat at the table eating the leftovers.
"Terrible in there. Harry's like a specter at the feast," she said.
Helen had just prepared a tray for Kelso. "I'll just take this up while they're all still in the dining room."
She went up the back stairs and opened the door to the master bedroom at the same moment that Guido Orsini passed the end of the corridor. He saw her, noted the tray in astonishment and moved cautiously along the corridor. He hesitated, then tried the door of her bedroom. Helen, for once, had omitted to turn the key. He peered inside, saw the secret door ajar and tiptoed across. There was a murmur of voices from upstairs. He listened for a moment, then turned and went out again, closing the door.
Sarah and Gallagher were talking in low voices when Guido went into the kitchen. "Ah, there you are," he said. "They're into politics now. Can I take you for a walk on the terrace?"
"Is he to be trusted?" she asked Gallagher.
"No more than most men I know, especially around a darling like you."
"I'll have to take a chance then. If Colonel Vogel comes looking for me, tell him I'll be back soon," she added formally.
There was a half-moon, the sky bright with stars, a luminosity to everything, palm trees etched against the sky. Everywhere there was the smell of flowers, drenched from the rain earlier.
"Azaleas." She breathed deeply. "One of my favorites."
"You are a remarkable girl," he said in English. "You don't mind if we use English, do you? There's no one about and it helps me keep my hand in."
"All right," she said reluctantly, "but not for long."
"You've never been to Jersey before?"
"No. I was raised by my grandmother in Paimpol after my mother died."
"I see. And it was your mother who was English?"
"That's right."
She was wary at this questioning and sat on a low granite wall, the moon behind her. He gave her a cigarette. "You smoke Gitanes, don't you?"
She was used to cigarettes by now and nodded. "On the other hand, one has to be content with whatever is available these days."
He gave her a light. "Yes, it's really quite remarkable. You speak French with a very Breton accent."
"What's strange about that? My grandmother was Breton."
"I know. It's your English that's so interesting. Very upper class. I went to Winchester, remember, so I can tell."
"Really? I'm a lucky girl, then." She stood up. "I'd better get back now, Guido. Max can get rather restless if I'm out of his sight too long with another man."
"Of course." She took his arm and they strolled back through the azaleas. "I like you, Anne-Marie Latour. I like you a lot. I want you to remember that."
"Only like?
" she said. "I thought you said you loved me." A dangerous game she was playing here. She knew that and yet could not resist taking it as far as it would go.
"All right," he said. "I love you," and he pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately. "Now do you understand?"
"Yes, Guido," she said softly. "I think I do."
Martineau appeared on the terrace in the moonlight. "Anne-Marie, are you there?" he shouted in French.
"Coming!" she called back and reached to touch the Italian's face. "I'll see you tomorrow, Guido," and she ran up the steps to the terrace.
They were all in the private sitting room at the back of the house overlooking the terrace, Gallagher. Martineau, Helen and Sarah. Gallagher poured Burgundy into four glasses while Helen opened the French window a little. It was very close. She breathed in the perfumed air for a few moments, then drew the heavy curtains across.
"So, what happens now?" Sean Gallagher asked.
"He certainly can't walk at the moment," Helen de Ville said. "George Hamilton saw him this afternoon. A real chance he could lose the leg if he disturbs things."
"At least he's safe for the time being upstairs," Sarah said.
"He can't sit out the war there," Martineau pointed out. "We need to get him to Granville. Once there, Cresson can radio London and have a Lysander over any night we want."
"But how to get him there, that's the thing," Gallagher said. "They've really got the small boat traffic closed up tight here. Observation posts all along the coast as you saw for yourself today. You wouldn't get far without being spotted. Any fishing boat that leaves harbor, even the lifeboat, has to have German guards on board when they put to sea."
"So what is the solution?" Sarah demanded. "We must do something."
There was a movement at the window, the curtains parted. Martineau turned, drawing his Walther, and Guido Orsini stepped into the room. "Perhaps I can help," he said in English.
TWELVE
THE FOLLOWING MORNING Martineau was on the upper level of the Albert Pier as Colonel Heine, the civil administration commander, and the bailiff and his party left for Guernsey on the E-boat with Dietrich. He watched them go as he leaned on the seawall, waiting for Orsini, who had gone to Kriegsmarine Headquarters at the Pomme d'Or Hotel.
The Italian's entry through the curtains the night before had certainly been as dramatic as it was unexpected. But his offer to throw in his lot with them made sense. Even if Orsini had been a thoroughgoing Fascist, it was reasonably certain who was going to win this war, and in Italy many of Mussolini's most fervent followers had transferred their allegiance to the winning side without a moment's hesitation. In any case, Orsini was not one of those. So Helen and Gallagher had assured him and so had Sarah, most fervently of all.
The young Italian came up the steps, saluted a couple of Kriegsmarine ratings and joined Martineau. "Let's walk to the end of the pier."
"What did you find out?" Martineau asked as they strolled along.
"A possible break. There's a small convoy due in from Guernsey early Sunday morning. The master of one of the ships, a Dutch coaster called the Jan Kruger, was taken ill yesterday. The bosun is handling her as far as Jersey."
"And then?"
"Our old friend Robert Savary takes command for the run to Granville."
"That certainly is interesting," Martineau said. "When can you speak to him?"
"There's the snag. He was picked up after the Victor Hugo went down by one of the search and rescue craft from St. Malo. He's due over from Granville early evening tomorrow on a fast patrol craft. What we call the dispatch boat."
"And you think he might be willing to smuggle Kelso over?" Orsini shrugged. "From what you have told me of his part in this business already, I should imagine him an eminently suitable candidate for applied pressure. After what he's already done, I fail to see how he can say no."
"True," Martineau said. "And he knows that if he puts a foot wrong the Cressons and their friends will arrange his funeral, priest included, free of charge." He smiled. "You know something, Count? I think you may well prove to be an asset to the corporation."
"Fine," said Guido. "Only let us understand each other."
"Go on."
"I've had my bellyful of death and destruction. I'm tired of killing and sick of politics. The Allies are going to win this war, that is inevitable, so Jersey was the perfect billet for a sensible man to sit out the last few months in comfort. And don't let's pretend that anything that happens here will make the slightest difference. If the Germans got their hands on Kelso, Eisenhower's invasion plans would, at the most, be seriously inconvenienced. He'd still win in the end. We're engaged in a rather interesting game here. It's true that it's also a dangerous one, but still only a game."
"Then why throw your hat in the ring?" Martineau asked.
"I think you know why," Guido told him as they went down the steps to where his car was parked. He smiled amiably. "Be warned, my friend. There is nothing more dangerous than the libertine who suddenly finds he has fallen in love with a good woman."
When the phone rang in his office at command headquarters Felix Necker was just about to leave to go riding on the beach at St. Aubin. He picked up the receiver and listened and a look of horror appeared on his face. "My God! What's his estimated time of arrival? All right. Arrange a guard of honor. I'll be there as soon as I can."
He slammed down the receiver and sat there for a moment thinking about things, then he picked it up again and dialed GFP Headquarters at the Silvertide.
"Herr Major," Muller said when he was put through. "What can I do for you?"
"Rommel is due in at the airport in forty-five minutes."
"Who did you say?" Muller demanded.
"Field Marshal Erwin Rommel, you idiot. He's arriving with his aide, a Major Hofer, from Normandy in a Fiesler Storch."
"But why?" Muller demanded. "I don't understand."
"Well I do," Necker told him. "It all makes perfect sense. First of all his orders for Heine and the others to join General von Schmettow in Guernsey for the weekend, getting them all nicely out of the way so that he can fly in out of the blue and take the place apart. I know how Rommel operates, Muller. He'll go everywhere. Check every machine-gun post."
"At least one mystery is solved," Muller said.
"What's that?"
"The reason for Vogel being here. The whole thing ties in now."
"Yes, I suppose you're right." Necker said. "Anyway, never mind that now. I'll see you at the airport."
He put down the receiver, hesitated, then picked it up again and told the operator to connect him with de Ville Place
. Martineau and Orsini had just returned, and it was Helen who answered the phone in the kitchen. "It's for you," she said to Martineau. "Major Necker." He took the receiver from her. "Vogel here."
"Good morning," Necker greeted him. "I'm sure it will come as no surprise to you to know that Field Marshal Rommel arrives at the airport in just over half-an-hour."
Martineau, concealing his astonishment, said, "I see."
"Naturally, you'll wish to greet him. I'll see you at the airport."
Martineau put the phone down slowly as Sarah and Gallagher came in from the garden. "What is it, Harry?" Sarah demanded. "You look awful."
"I should," he said. "I think the roof just fell in on me."
At the Silvertide, Muller was hurriedly changing into uniform in the bathroom next to his office. He heard the outside door open and Kleist called, "Are you there, Herr Captain? You wanted us."
"Yes, come in," Muller called.
He went into the office buttoning his tunic, picked up his belt with the bolstered Mauser and fastened it quickly.
"Something up?" Kleist asked. He looked terrible. The bruising around the eyes had deepened, and the plaster they had taped across his nose at the hospital didn't improve things.
"You could say that. I've just heard Rommel's flying in on what looks like a snap inspection. I'll have
to get up to the airport now. You can drive me, Ernst," he told Greiser.
"What about me?" Kleist asked.
"With a face like that? I don't want you within a mile of Rommel. Better take a couple of days off, Willi. Just keep out of the way." He turned to Greiser. "Let's get moving."
After they had gone, Kleist went to the cupboard where the captain kept his drink, took out a bottle of cognac and poured a large one into a glass. He swallowed it in one quick gulp and went into the bathroom and examined himself in the mirror. He looked awful and his face hurt. It was all that damned Irishman's fault.
He poured himself another cognac and said softly, "My turn will come, you swine, and when it does…" He toasted himself in the mirror and emptied his glass.
As the Citroen moved past the harbor and turned along the esplanade, Greiser said, "By the way, that call I had booked to my brother in Stuttgart last night."
"What did he have to say?"
"He didn't. He was on leave. Due back today on the night shift. I'll speak to him then."
"Not that it matters all that much now," Muller said. "Nothing very mysterious about friend Vogel any longer. He obviously came here in advance of the field marshal, that's all."
"But what does Rommel want?" Greiser asked.
"If you consider the beach fortifications, strongpoints and batteries for the entire French coast south from Dieppe, exactly half are in these islands alone," Muller told him. "Perhaps, with the invasion coming, he thought it was time to see what he was getting for his money." He glanced at his watch. "But never mind that now. Just put your foot down hard. We've only got about ten minutes."
At the airport, Martineau paused briefly to have his pass checked by the sentry. As he was in uniform, it was the merest formality. Several cars were parked outside the main entrance, drivers standing by them, obviously the official party. The big black Austin limousine in front carried the military commander's pennant.
Martineau parked the Kubelwagen behind Muller's Citroen. Greiser was at the wheel, the only driver in civilian clothes. Martineau ignored him and went inside the airport building. There were uniforms everywhere, mainly Luftwaffe. He felt a sense of detachment as he walked on through, no fear at all. He would have to do the best he could with the cards fate had dealt him.