Downfall

by Sally Spedding

  37.

  15.20 hrs.

  “I can’t speak for long,” her best friend began, sounding stressed. The line poor. “My doctor’s coming here soon, and he’s an ape.”

  “Are you alright?” Delphine switched her headlights on, just in case something might be travelling towards her in the thickening snow. “You sound different.”

  “I’ll live. It’s just that I’ve had this weird phone call, five minutes ago. Papa’s checking it out now.”

  Please, God, no…

  “Go on.”

  “The creepy voice said I’m waiting. So, don’t be long. Nice, eh?”

  Silence, in which Delphine, a sinner for ever having involved her, crossed herself. Something she’d not done since her confirmation eight years ago. “If it’s any consolation,” she struggled to speak, “I’ve just had the same. Oh, Christ…”

  “That’s no fucking consolation, if you must know. You’re in this shit up to your chin, while I’m just trying to hang on a bit longer, and meanwhile help out a mate now and then. But not this! You could have been seen coming to my place the other day, and I bet my pc’s been tapped too.”

  “I’m coming back.”

  “No, you don’t!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Leave me alone! And before I go, here’s what you wanted. I hope it’s been sodding worth it.”

  Delphine’s numbness took hold as she listened to the information on two very different people being reeled off with no expression, no reaction, just the need to get it over with. She strained to catch every word which turned her knotted, empty stomach over. Delivered a wave of terror into that substantial car.

  When quietude finally returned, she stared out at the grey-black sky, and once she’d let the window down to gulp some fresh, icy air, knew, like Pauline, she faced far more than danger.

  *

  According to official Gendarmerie de France records which Pauline had ingeniously managed to access for a thirty euros fee, was the startling news that sous-lieutenant Noah Baudart, Lise Confrère’s cousin, no less, had been moved from Clermont-Ferrand to the more rural outpost of Labradelle two years ago, having been suspended for withholding evidence about a local pimp and drug dealer. Another small piece of the murky puzzle fitting into place. Painfully, though, because Delphine sensed this was just the start to understanding why her former heroine had, and still was, acting more than oddly.

  She wondered too, how much if anything, Captain Valon knew. Or had he too, been concealing information?

  As for her mother’s humungous secret, her own daughter’s dogged, pissed-off best friend had soon delved into the Das Reich Division’s earliest records after the Oradour-sur-Glane tragedy, and found a name mentioned just once, and not, apparently, anywhere else. That of a missing eighteen-year-old conscript, originally from Bonn.

  Delphine recalled what former neighbour Didier Minuel had said about Germans he knew who’d changed their names.

  Was it remotely possible that this young officer became the half-French, half-Dutch Henri Seghers before moving to Paris and training in gerontology?

  If so, she calculated he could be seventy-seven.

  *

  Aware of seconds slipping by and the snow becoming more persistent, Delphine tried calling her mother to give her that very name and urge her to leave Bellevue as soon as possible. But that earlier signal had gone. Again.

  As if by coincidence, a pungent whiff of cow dung invaded her space and she turned up the car’s heater to dispel it, realising that some form of habitation, even perhaps ‘Les Cigales’ must be somewhere. Holding her nose, she then opened her window for a clearer view of her surroundings.

  Not a cow in sight, but clear sounds of running water then an old stone bridge, recently renovated. Beneath it, a sizeable stream flowed over more rocks smoothed down by its current, flowing from the black mouth of a cave to her right. But more extraordinary was the worn, splintered sign that met her at the end of the bridge.

  LES CIGALES

  *

  ‘I’m waiting, so don’t be long…’

  Was this it? With Martin here maybe still in distress? If so, how had he arrived, and just as important, why? Did this sign mean a single property or more? She’d come this far, there’d be no going back.

  The first thing she noticed was the lack of any telegraph poles and electric cables. Perhaps they were underground, even about to be installed. No time to wonder, because beyond the sign, the muddy, stony ground had morphed into a sizeable track on which aggregate had also recently been laid. The grey mini-rocks rattling harshly beneath the Suzuki’s chassis.

  All the while Delphine also asked herself if that man driving the green Nissan X-Trail who’d been in room 45 and the rest, could really have been a well-kept seventy-seven-year-old? She’d seen enough older businessmen and tourists in their sixth and seventh decades to realise they’d not all let themselves go. Was he really Dr Henri Seghers, and if so, where was Lucius? Also, Martin Dobbs who on the quiet, had been a very useful errand boy?

  *

  At least the snow had stopped. She switched off her wipers and engaged first gear before picking up her phone to let her mother know Pauline’s news.

  Matters of life and death…

  BATTERY LOW.

  Help me, God…

  And as if God was listening, her phone again began to ring, and Bellevue’s number wobbled ominously in its small, allotted space.

  Don’t die on me, please…

  She secured the Nokia beneath her cheek, also praying the vibrations from the road wouldn’t cause the precious phone fall to the floor

  “Maman? Are you OK?”

  “Yes. And you?”

  “I’m fine. In the Causses de Quercy, like I told you at the hospital. Near a place called Salvignac, although there’s been no sign so far, and heading for ‘Les Cigales.’ There’s been a bridge over a big stream, and some blue lights. I’m getting closer…”

  “You told me Tours.”

  “I had to. Anyway, it’s good news about Papa, but I’m phoning to say you should leave Bellevue now.”

  “Why? I’m waiting for him.”

  All at once that same blue helicopter re-appeared. This time with more than one red light, flashing angrily in the near-darkness. No sign of Gauffroi’s big van.

  “What did he mean when he told Captain Valon he’d found what he’d been looking for?”

  “No idea, but I’m furious.”

  “That’s understandable, but you and Pauline Fillol are at huge risk. Please, please warn the gendarmerie and police she’s in danger too. But – and you must believe me – don’t trust Lise Confrère or her cousin, that sous-lieutenant Baudart.”

  “I said, why?”

  A din-filled pause, in which Delphine cursed her mother’s stubbornness.

  This maybe all your fault…

  “The name of that young German soldier unaccounted for during and after Oradour was…”

  Thud.

  “Delphine? What are you saying? Are you there?”

  The Nokia had hit the edge of the door’s map pocket and slithered out of sight, with her mother’s voice still asking the same questions. Then came more butting and shoving, making the car lurch from side to side. What the hell was going on?

  She then heard the rage of either wild dogs or wolves – she couldn’t tell – hurling themselves at her door, leaping on to the bonnet, the roof. Baying for blood.

  Hers.

  *

  “Assez! Enough!” Yelled an unseen female, followed by a rifle blast, then another. “Venez ici!”

  The salivating, stinking mob fell away, but their fearsome eyes still watched Delphine’s every move. She’d kept the engine running and edged forward, her heart punishing her chest. But where had that woman gone? The one with the rifle?

  There she was.

  Tall as an Amazon, dressed in black from head to toe. A waterfall of thin, pink hair tumbling over her wide s
houlders. Her face belonging more to a bird of prey, with a noticeable scar the length of her right cheek. An ageless Warrior Woman who could have stepped from the pages of a fantasy novel, moved towards the Suzuki to tap on Delphine’s window with a purple-gloved hand. The other still gripped her hunting rifle.

  “They’re coming for you right now!” Was shouted in a voice with no trace of dialect. “You must hide, and if you let me, I can help you.”

  A trap?

  “Who’s coming for me?” Delphine opened her window an inch. Icy air sneaked in.

  “People you thought you could trust.”

  Did she mean Martin? No…

  “And you are?”

  “Earth Mother.”

  So, why trust you?

  “What’s your real name?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Well, I’ve just had a mysterious phone message pretending to be from my best friend. It said, ‘I’m waiting, so don’t be long.’ Male or female, I wasn’t sure, with their number withheld. Was that you, by any chance?”

  “I don’t use a phone. Ever.”

  Delphine then realised, if proof were needed, this woman at least as old, if not older than her mother was lying. No-one living out here in the middle of nowhere could survive without a phone, especially if female. Perhaps she was in hiding from something or someone. Why else all those vicious dogs still sniffing around? Each a fully-grown, boar-chasing Fauve de Bretagne. So unlike gentle Julie.

  “Have you heard of anyone called Martin Dobbs?” She ventured. “He phoned me, saying he was at ‘Les Cigales’ somewhere in this region. God knows how or why, except he’s in real danger.”

  “Liar.”

  That was careless.

  “Him or me?”

  “You of course. You smell of lies.”

  Merci.

  She was about to add how she’d seen that frantic, middle-aged man in pyjamas, when the dogs began barking again as the same helicopter drew nearer. Two red lights now, like two devilish eyes, as its propeller caused more chaos while beginning to descend

  “Hurry!” said the huntress, before turning on her heels. Purple socks inside Doc Marten boots kicking up stones as she went.

  This was beyond mad. Delphine didn’t know this person and was on her own with no mobile reception. Her options diminished to nil. However, she tailed this strange, swiftly-walking figure and her canine entourage along that same route, towards what could only be described as a compound ringed by high, wattle-fencing. The kind she’d seen in films set in backwoods America.

  What on earth?

  Next came a sickly stench seeping it seemed, from a gaping wound in the snow-dusted ground to her left, mingling with the equally dense smell of wet, filthy dogs. More illumination from various security lights enabled her to see a line of maxi-sized poubelles so full of rubbish, their lids couldn’t close properly.

  All this activity…

  Yet a second glance showed this rubbish didn’t look like typical household junk, and the group of various unnamed vans seemed inappropriate for merely domestic use. A smaller, black one had particularly caught her attention.

  The words ‘baby farm’ crept back not her mind.

  “Come on!” urged the pink-haired woman, unlocking a solid, iron gate, more in keeping with a war zone. It clanged shut behind them, and that was when Delphine knew for certain where she’d seen that distinctive van before. At the Moulin d’Espoir with the surly Filipo Facchietti watching her every move, and Adriana his cowering sister in that over-large coat, looking scared witless.

  38.

  16.10 hrs.

  The dogs, like the helicopter, had vanished. Even Earth Mother seemed little more than a spectre as she increased her pace, listing slightly to the left as if at some point, she might have suffered an injury. Delphine kept up, gripping her bag tight, glad of her own new boots’ sturdy soles on that same skin of snow beginning to freeze, as she held her mobile aloft and every which way to get a signal.

  Nothing.

  Fuck it.

  That knock hadn’t helped it, but superficially at least, her one lifeline didn’t seem broken. She’d try using it again when she could, but just then an unmistakeable cry made her start. Not from some animal or bird – she was sure of that – but human. Definitely. She listened again, thinking of Martin, but no. This was someone very young. Then came another, higher-pitched, in a different cadence. And another, this time, softer…

  “Vite! Quick!” hissed her guide. “Where’s your brain?”

  Just then, Delphine didn’t know, because despite her new, tartan-lined cagoule, she was already half-frozen. Her numb thoughts focussed solely on putting one foot in front of the other and judging when best to ask her if Martin Dobbs was also here, and who’d been that strange man in pyjamas with a gun.

  Too late.

  They’d reached a large, single-storey stone-built house with a typical Quercy-style roof whose furthest side sloped down almost to the ground. A substantial generator stood alongside, emitting a noticeable hum as she passed. No windows unless they were on the other side, but plenty of discreet CCTV cameras whose black, shiny lenses reflected blue from the security lights opposite.

  What a weird place, she thought, and weirder still, that the pink-haired woman hadn’t asked her name. Almost as if she’d known it already…

  *

  Another door. Solid steel again, but this time, automatic, closed behind her with a sigh. She fought off a rising panic, focussed instead on not losing contact with her leader; on dodging yet more CCTV cameras angled along the otherwise bare corridor’s walls, while from outside, came the vibrating roar of a helicopter drawing closer.

  “If what comes next is the last thing you see, so be it.” Earth Mother raised her voice while, unlocking a further door at the corridor’s far end. “Voilà. The Kingdom of Separation.”

  That same door swung open on to a scene which could have come from a horror film, immediately causing the meagre contents of Delphine’s stomach to sting the back of her throat.

  *

  “Who on earth’s behind all this?” She ventured, having recovered from the shock of what faced her. She had to hear the answer for herself, but this whacko was either in too much of a hurry, or deliberately keeping her in the dark as she slid three bolts across behind them.

  Each pale wall of the poorly-lit room was lined with beds. Not the everyday kind, but narrow, metal-framed with meagre mattresses, boxed in by thick sheets of glass and mounted on wheels. Each was occupied. Delphine scanned each one, beginning with those on her far left, trying not to inhale the mix of stale milk, disinfectant and old blood.

  Here, each pregnant, gagged, young and not-so young, white woman lay strapped down by a band covering their throat. All shapes and sizes, their desperate eyes implored her to help release them. Their bodies from left to right, increasingly bloated by pregnancy until the teenage occupant of the very last bed, whose enormous bump and muted groans made Delphine want to smash the restraining glass, tear her drip from her arm, her oxygen tube from her nose and take her away.

  But Earth Mother was alongside, gesticulating. Fear stiffening her face.

  “That’s enough! Follow me!” she mouthed, as invisible fists and possibly weapons pounded that fortress-like door behind them. The door to Hell.

  *

  The source of the pathetic mewling Delphine had heard moments before, became more distinct once her guide held a heavily-beaded curtain to one side. Here, another windowless room, smaller and lit this time, by several flickering strip lights, was home to another heart-stopping sight.

  Babies.

  At least twenty of them lying in their individual crates, wearing the same yellow sleep suits, making it impossible to tell whether boys or girls. All, like those pregnant women and teenagers, were white. Some bald, some already with full heads of hair, ranging from the newborn to not-so-new. All perfect but unnamed, like that tragic, tiny victim in the Hôtel les Palmiers.

/>   Flitting from one newborn to another, were five white-skinned women of various ages and posture, dressed identically as the one calling herself Earth Mother, except their hair was hidden beneath black scarves. They silently dispensed feeding bottles from a nearby trolley, and just the once, glanced at her before continuing their tasks, as if used to seeing strangers.

  All at once, a sudden buzzing sound made them freeze to attention. Then came a man’s clipped voice loud enough to make those same infants stop mid-feed and scream.

  “All personnel to gather in the Round Room immediately! Allons! We have an escape!”

  Delphine wondered who, but in the ensuing chaos, couldn’t contain herself any longer. She’d already seen and heard too much.

  “Where will these poor little babies go?” She cried out. “And what about their mothers?”

  The answer was a purple, gloved hand on her throat accompanied by a solid blow to the side of her head which sent that dusky room swirling and spinning until all became black.

  *

  She was outside. That much was obvious, with a mighty headache and the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. Thanks to her wrecked cagoule, the cold, wet ground leached into her jumper and jeans, numbing her bones. Her tongue soon told her that her teeth were intact, but her nerves were shot through with pain now hijacking her whole body. Through half-opened eyes, Delphine realised she must have been dragged to the back of the building and, judging by that same constant hum, was near the generator. Her parents at Bellevue had used one until being connected to the national grid.

  She wondered where that ever-present helicopter was. Also, who’d been attacking that internal door, and where was her attacker, Mother Earth now? But only that same, soft snow touching her exposed skin, replied and Delphine knew she must try and move away from there. Even just a little, but she couldn’t.

  Jésu…

  Her hands and knees were bound fast together. Not with straps or string, but orange binder twine. Just like Julie…

  Soon, something warm and wet licked her bare hands, accompanied by damp fur and hot, smelly breath, morphing into a low growl. It was as if one of those dogs had come back to guard her.