by David Gilman
‘What?’ said the burly sergeant, lifting his eyes.
‘Jules Vanves,’ said Mitchell without further explanation. The less said in a police station the better. A stranger walking in through the main door and asking for a police officer by name might be an informer, but the desk sergeant didn’t seem to care. He turned to a gendarme at a desk. ‘Get Sergent Vanves.’ He glared down at Mitchell and flicked his pen towards a bench. ‘Wait over there.’
Mitchell squeezed next to the others who were waiting and watched as the hall echoed with police footfalls and occasional calls for a patrol. It was barely a couple of minutes before Vanves appeared. Worry flashed across his face when he saw Mitchell.
‘Merciful God, what are you doing here? There’s a panic on,’ he said as he pulled Mitchell into a quiet corner.
‘I need to see the man called Maillé,’ said Mitchell. He knew he’d have to trade something to get what he wanted.
Vanves’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. ‘You’re part of this?’
‘No. But I know his family. I need to see him and I need those identity cards I asked for.’
‘You are mad. To come here. To place me in such danger.’
‘Do you have the documents?’ said Mitchell in an even voice.
‘Yes.’
‘Get them. Where is Maillé?’
‘The cells. Where the hell do you think he is?’
‘Is he hurt?’
‘Yes. Wounded. Listen to me: you cannot see him. At first we thought it was a police matter, black-market gangsters raiding a food warehouse, but then we found a British weapon – a Sten gun – on this man so the Gestapo are coming for him. He’s a résistant.’
‘Were you warned?’ said Mitchell.
‘About the raid? I don’t know.’
There had been no mention of Edmond so Mitchell assumed he had got away. But how, in what appeared to have been a furious gun battle?
‘How can I get into the cells? A couple of minutes is all I need.’
‘Impossible.’
‘I have a gold coin.’
Vanves shook his head, glancing over his shoulder, seeing that the desk sergeant was looking his way.
‘Listen to me, Jules. This man you have in the cells. He has information about you and your family.’
‘What?’
‘I told you I would protect you. I have influence with these people. I knew something was supposed to happen tonight, though I didn’t know exactly what. But if he can tell me anything about their plans then I can help you. Do you understand me, Jules? I risked everything coming here to try and help you and your family. Now get me in there,’ said Mitchell, hoping that the flood of lies would be sufficiently convincing.
Vanves bit his lip and then nodded. ‘Give me the coin.’
Mitchell pressed it into Vanves’s palm. He approached the desk sergeant and had a whispered conversation. Mitchell watched as the coin changed hands and the desk sergeant nodded. Vanves beckoned Mitchell. He led Mitchell down corridors that became ever bleaker until the curved plastered walls bore only wire-caged lamps in the ceiling and walls. The air in the dimly lit passage felt damp and chill. At the end of the corridor another bisected it and Vanves slid open a bolt on a heavy iron door. Beyond the door it was virtually dark, the dull glow from a solitary ceiling bulb barely reaching the end of the narrow passage. To his left was a series of cages. Vanves stopped at the metal door.
‘Third on the left. Be quick, Henri. The Gestapo are coming for him. I’ll get those identity cards and then you must get out of here.’ Vanves bolted the door behind him. As the heavy door thudded closed the sense of finality made Mitchell shudder. Each of the first cells had two or three men huddled together on what looked like a stained straw mattress. At the third set of bars, Mitchell could just see Maillé manacled to the wall by one wrist as he sat slumped against the cold stone wall, his chin resting on his chest. Dried blood clung to the shirtsleeve on his wounded arm and stained his trousers. They had already stripped his trouser belt and boots from him and his feet were caked in filth. Within reach of the manacle was a latrine bucket.
Mitchell squatted next to the bars and whispered the man’s name with increasing urgency until he raised his head. Mitchell saw the bruising on his face and his closed left eye. Maillé’s lips were flecked with dried blood. He turned his head and good eye towards Mitchell.
‘Pascal, is that you?’
‘Yes, it’s me, Nicolas.’
Maillé sighed. ‘Sorry, boss. It all went wrong. Drossier?’
Mitchell shook his head.
‘Oh, shit,’ Maillé groaned. ‘Thought he had a chance. He made a run for it. What about Edmond?’
‘We don’t know. Was he with you at the warehouse?’
Maillé nodded. ‘He covered our backs when Drossier and I drove the truck to the loading bay. There were only two gendarmes on duty. We thought it would be easy, but there was a dozen of them inside. They were waiting for us. We walked right into it. We killed a few of them.’ He tried to moisten his lips with his tongue but Mitchell could see there was no spittle in his mouth. Maillé shrugged. ‘If I hadn’t shot first instead of using my knife we might have had a chance.’
‘We do things on instinct, like I did when I shot those soldiers. Look what happened. A whole village wiped out. What’s done is done. Nicolas.’
‘Still… you got us this far… but I ended it. Sorry, Pascal. Tell Chaval and the others. I should have listened.’
‘I can’t help you, you know that.’
The condemned man nodded. ‘The gendarmes beat me because I killed some of their own, but they said the Gestapo are coming for me.’
‘Hold on as long as you can. I need time to secure Jean Bernard and Madame Bonnier and her child. Give them information. Drip-feed it to them. Tell them we were responsible for stealing the petrol. Then tell them where we stashed it. They will check and when they see that you have told the truth it will go in your favour. Tell them about me. It doesn’t matter any more.’
‘It does matter. I know that. I won’t die a coward’s death, I promise you that. I’m sorry for what I did, for getting Drossier killed and for putting you and the others at risk.’ He grinned. ‘I threw my identity card away when they closed in on me. I’ll tell them I’m Pascal, which’ll throw them – for a while at least. That’ll help, won’t it?’
Mitchell nodded. ‘Yes, it will.’
A tear welled in Maillé’s eye. He reached out his free arm towards the bars. Mitchell stretched and held his hand.
The heavy bolt slid free. Vanves stood in the doorway. ‘Quickly,’ he hissed.
With a gentle squeeze of Maillé’s hand, Mitchell pulled free from his grip and turned for the door.
60
Mitchell followed Vanves’s rapid strides. As they got close to the main entrance and the desk sergeant Vanves turned and shoved a handful of identity cards into Mitchell’s hand. ‘Two women, two children and the man. These identities are old. They were filed for two years so no one will know these people were deported.’
Mitchell quickly flipped through the documents. His friends’ faces stared back at him. The official stamps edging across the photographs would halt any suspicion that they were forgeries. ‘Good. Well done, Jules.’ Mitchell knew it was the moment that posed the most danger for himself and the others. Once he was out of the police station Vanves was free to save his own skin by betraying Mitchell, and he would not blame him. He had to secure Vanves’s silence. He pulled out an envelope full of cash.
‘What is this? Are you trying to buy my silence?’
‘It’s as I thought, Jules. You have to get home. They’re coming for you. Get home and pack and get your wife and son out.’
Vanves’s features sagged. ‘What?’
‘Can you leave here now?’
Confusion danced behind his eyes. ‘Now? Yes, yes. If I must.’
‘Is there somewhere you can go outside of Paris?’
‘
I have family in Lyon.’
‘Good. Take the money. You’ve earned it. I said I would look after you, so help me to do so. I’ll wait for you outside your house. Be as quick as you can. I’ll stop them if I can before they get there. It’s tonight, Jules.’
Vanves grasped Mitchell’s arm with both hands. ‘Thank you, Henri. God bless you.’
Mitchell tucked the identity cards in his overcoat pocket. The cells, the narrow, dim passage and the overarching stench of fear clawed at him and he was desperate to get into the night air. As Vanves took him to the main entrance a squad of German soldiers pushed their way in and began to close off any escape. Two plainclothes Gestapo agents strode in behind them. ‘Security here leaves a lot to be desired!’ one of them bellowed. ‘Identity check!’ Soldiers began herding any civilians in the hall to one side. Mitchell felt panic grip him. If he was caught with the identity documents he would end up at Avenue Foch with Maillé. The burly desk sergeant must have realized that if Mitchell was taken then he too could be named as having helped him. Reacting quickly he took a few quick strides towards Mitchell, grabbed him roughly and bellowing curses marched him unceremoniously past the Gestapo towards the main door.
‘You bastard reporters! You come here when we have had men killed! Four gendarmes dead and all you do is sniff around for a story?’ He cuffed Mitchell, who was genuinely stunned, and then shoved him with sufficient force so that he fell headlong through the main doors. The desk sergeant spat in Mitchell’s direction and bent down and tossed his hat after him. Then he turned and swore at a cowering civilian who had not moved quickly enough across the hall to join the others waiting to have their identity cards checked. ‘Stinking press.’ He glared at the frightened civilian. ‘You heard what the officer said! Get your arse over there!’ The man quickly complied as the soldiers and the two Gestapo men grinned.
Jules Vanves swallowed the bitter vomit that had stung the back of his throat. He quickly nodded his thanks to the desk sergeant.
‘Check them,’ ordered the senior Gestapo agent to his subordinate. ‘Where is the terrorist?’
Vanves hurriedly made his way to his office. It was time to find Mitchell again and pray it was not too late to get his family out of Paris.
*
Jules Vanves walked as quickly as he could to his house. His police overcoat became a burden but he thought it unseemly for a gendarme to take it off, so he suffered the sweat that clung to his undervest and shirt. He’d spent a lifetime trying to sustain a sense of dignity, and even in such times of imminent danger, he couldn’t abandon it. As he turned the corner to his street he was relieved to see that his house was intact. Mitchell stepped out the shadows and joined him at the front door.
‘Denise,’ Vanves called, stripping off the heavy overcoat and tossing his cap on to the hall stand. No reply. ‘Denise?’ A note of concern crept into his voice as he walked into the drawing room. Madame Vanves appeared from the bathroom with curlers in her hair.
‘Jules? What is it? What’s wrong?’ She looked alarmed when she saw Mitchell.
‘We have to leave immediately,’ her husband told her.
She opened her mouth to speak but Vanves cut her off. ‘Immediately. Do as I say. Henri is helping us. Get Jean-Louis dressed and pack one suitcase. Take anything of value. Your jewellery, anything.’
Denise Vanves seemed to shrink with fear, freezing like a tiny bird in the face of a predator. Mitchell thought Vanves was about to castigate her but he embraced her tenderly and, ignoring Mitchell’s presence, spoke lovingly to her. ‘My darling Denise. We will be safe. We have enough money and we will soon be on the morning train to Lyon. Now, pack quickly and rouse our son from his bed. Yes?’ He kissed her forehead and she seemed to perk up.
Mitchell eased aside the blackout curtain allowing a crack of light into the darkness. There was no sign of any movement in the street. Vanves glanced questioningly at him.
‘Nothing,’ said Mitchell, closing the curtain.
The lack of danger gave Madame Vanves confidence. ‘Could we not stay in our home, Jules? You are an important man and I am certain the police would protect their own. And besides, perhaps Henri is wrong about the information he has.’ She faced Mitchell. ‘Is that not possible, Henri?’
‘It is possible, Denise, but the man I questioned this evening was adamant that –’
The sound of a car engine revving and tyres squealing outside interrupted Mitchell. ‘Down!’ he yelled. Vanves smothered his wife on to the sofa as a burst of machine-gun fire tore into the front of the building, narrowly missing the window. Denise Vanves screamed and shook uncontrollably as the sound of the car roaring away diminished.
‘Denise!’ Vanves said harshly, needing to shock her into action. She found the strength to push herself free of him. Spurred on by terror she ran into the bedroom.
‘I’ll keep watch,’ said Mitchell. ‘Hurry, Jules.’
It took only a few minutes for Vanves to dress his son and to throw on a civilian jacket. Madame Vanves hauled a suitcase from the bedroom as Vanves loosened a floorboard and took a bag that he pushed into his pocket. Obviously, thought Mitchell, it was contraband: a nest egg for an emergency such as this. Their son looked bewildered but once again Vanves managed to control his voice and offer calm reassurance to his family.
‘It’s clear,’ said Mitchell. ‘Good luck.’
Vanves’s wife embraced and kissed Mitchell. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered and took her son’s hand. Mitchell stood at the front door. The street was empty. Vanves looked nervously left and right and then shook Mitchell’s hand.
‘I am grateful.’ He checked the street once more and hurried his family into the night.
Mitchell made his way down the street and as he passed an unlit alley a car’s headlights flashed. He climbed in.
‘Did it work?’ said Chaval.
‘Yes.’ But Mitchell felt a sense of regret at deceiving Vanves, and threatening such a vulnerable personality.
‘So we won’t have to worry about him talking?’ said Ginny.
‘No. He’s on the run now. He won’t come back to Paris.’
‘He was screwing his own kind. You should have let us kill him when we had the chance. Shooting up his house would have been as good a time as ever to get rid of him,’ said Laforge.
‘No, his wife and son need him. He blackmailed people. He didn’t cause their deaths,’ said Mitchell. ‘Fear made him as frail as the rest of us.’
Laforge eased the car forward. ‘Maillé?’ he asked.
In the car’s darkness, Mitchell shook his head. ‘He’s wounded. The Gestapo came for him. He was brave.’
‘Then he’s still alive?’ said Chaval.
‘Yes. But they’ll break him sooner or later. I told him to tell them where we hid the petrol. We have a couple of hours to move half of it.’
No one spoke until Ginny broke the silence. ‘Time is short now, Pascal. We have to get the Lysander flight ready. I need to contact London.’
‘It can wait until the next scheduled transmission. I have to get Jean Bernard and the family out. I’ve got their documents. The Gestapo agents will expect to question Madame Tatier’s son and when he’s not in the park after school they’ll raid her apartment. If we’re lucky Maillé’s arrest will delay that meeting.’
‘Where to?’ said Laforge.
‘Go back across the river. I’ll show you where to drop Thérèse and me off.’ He squinted at his watch in the dim light. ‘Pick up half the petrol cans and find another place for them, but don’t tell Gaétan where. We need to keep the information we have to ourselves now. When you’ve done that take the car back to Gaétan and find out about Edmond. Tell Gaétan what happened at the warehouse if Edmond’s not there; if he is, get his version of events.’
‘Shit, you think he ran out on Maillé and Drossier?’ said Laforge.
‘I don’t know. We’ll find out the truth – and if he betrayed them, then he will be punished. But make no threats, eit
her of you. We have to see how this plays out. Understand?’
Everyone fell silent. The shock of the failed attack, of Drossier’s death and Maillé’s capture, compounded the suspicion that someone associated with the Norvé circuit leader might be an informer.
‘Pascal, I need to make an unscheduled transmission or we won’t get the plane in time,’ Ginny insisted quietly.
‘The apartment is getting too dangerous. Roccu said he saw a lot of RDF vans in the area. I need to get you out of there.’
‘It’s a necessary risk,’ she insisted.
‘I’ll decide when,’ he told her curtly. ‘For Christ’s sake, they’re going to torture Maillé. You think I wanted any of this to happen? Damn the plane: I don’t want you getting caught – or anyone else for that matter. Tomorrow we’ll meet up and decide on our next move. Chaval, bring Laforge to Roccu’s bar for noon. Hide the weapons where we can reach them and then I’ll use the Peugeot when we need it. Don’t mention anything to Gaétan about Vanves or that I went to see Maillé.’