by Pirate Irwin
For he had inadvertently chosen the wrong room and crawling into bed, he had fondly kissed the female who lay there and started caressing her only to be greeted by shrieks. When the light was turned on he saw to his horror that it was not his girlfriend but her mother and her father was the other side looking distinctly unamused. Needless to say he had never seen his girlfriend again.
The opening of the front door, for the stairs led down to the hallway, woke him from that particularly disgraceful memory and he progressed to the top of the stairs and then swiftly down them in case he lost sight of whomever it was that had just left the premises.
Thankfully there was a full moon which lit up the hallway through the two large windows either side of the entrance, so he didn’t lose his footing coming down the stairs. It also aided him to make out two figures walking down the drive. Helpfully, the drive was not a gravel one, but a dirt track so his footsteps didn’t make too much of a noise.
He kept his distance as the couple walked, without glancing backwards, to a building that was hidden by a large bush.
They knocked and went inside. The moon could only give Lafarge so much guidance but it was enough to see that there was space between the wall that marked the farm’s boundary and the hut for him to hide and hopefully listen to what was being said or done inside.
Having safely negotiated the clearing between the bush and the hut and settled as comfortably as possible by the building he listened in.
“I’m telling you it’s too dangerous to go out tonight. Aimée brought the detective here and he’s stayed the night,” Lafarge heard Bernard say.
“Jesus what did she go and do that for? She’s a real pain in the ass that one,” said a man, whose voice he vaguely recognized.
“I’ll thank you not to say such things about my sister,” said Bernard bluntly.
Lafarge sighed with relief that at least some of their story had been true.
“The cop needs to be got rid of Bernard. He has already caused us trouble and he’s likely to cause us even more,” came the man’s voice again, someone whom Lafarge was fast taking against.
“No, I can’t do that. Aimée has him under control anyway upstairs and I think that he doesn’t suspect anything,” said Bernard.
Lafarge could hear a scuffing of feet as whoever Bernard was addressing mulled over whether he could accept his hosts’ assurances.
“Very well, I will take your word for it. However, having met him albeit briefly and at the end of a gun, I am warning you that whilst he may appear to be one of the better ones he is far from being on our side,” said the man.
“I will vouch for him too. I had an ill advised outburst at dinner and he took it very well. To be honest, I think he is more addicted to alcohol and women than he is to running down resistants,” giggled Lisette.
“Well, you may laugh Lisette but my sources tell me that he is not to be taken lightly. He may not be playing the game according to his superiors liking but he is far from being committed to our cause either. He’s a maverick and more dangerous for being so, as you don’t know what side he is going to pick,” said the man.
Lafarge was beginning to like the man more now after that description, but he also realized he had stumbled upon a haven for the résistance. The man was probably the one he had held at gunpoint yesterday when he had finally seen de Chastelain, but he wondered if that was the case was his quarry still with him, and where was the woman?
“Well all I can advise for you at the moment, Gilles, is to sit tight here, along with Christiane, and we will be rid of the cop tomorrow morning and then tomorrow night, we will start on our plan. I take it the other fellow, the one that Lafarge was interested in, won’t be joining us,” added Bernard.
Both the man, Gilles, and Lafarge thought, Christiane laughed.
“No, he has other things planned. It appears your policeman has top level orders to bring him back to Paris and he is going to gamble that his guardian plays fair. More fool him,” sneered Gilles.
“At this rate, there will be three of them in the compartment, Aimée seems to be besotted by our Parisian detective,” said Lisette.
“She isn’t, Lisette, she is acting a role just as she does when she is in costume in Paris,” said Bernard sternly.
“If you say so Bernard, but I wager her feelings are stronger than you believe them to be,” retorted Lisette.
“Anyway, we’re not standing around here to debate Aimée’s real feelings or love life, there are more important things to talk about. Best if we relax a little and have a drink while we are doing so, don’t you think?” said Bernard rhetorically.
Lafarge heard a general buzz of approving noises to Bernard’s suggestion and whilst he would have liked to stay around and hear more of their conversation, he felt it wiser to make good his return to the house lest he be discovered.
He crept back, hoping that Aimée hadn’t awoken and was looking for him, for whether she really did have strong feelings for him or not, her first loyalty would be to her brother and their cause. He need not have worried for he re–entered the bedroom to find her sleeping as soundly as when he had left her.
Sleep did not come easily to him, for if what Lisette had said was true, female intuition and all that, then he faced a real dilemma with Aimée.
His being married had nothing to do with it, for he had broken his vows the moment he made love with her by the lake.
The real problem was, could he save her without alerting her sibling and his wife?
Or would he have to sacrifice her and use her as a decoy to aid his goal of getting de Chastelain, a man he held little regard for, onto the train without the knowledge of de Blaeckere and his wounded pack of bloodhounds?
CHAPTER TWENTY
He returned to Limoges alone and in a sombre mood, for his farewell with Aimee had been a tortuous one for him, realizing that it was probably the last time they would see each other.
She had been the only one present at breakfast, no doubt Bernard and Lisette were exhausted after their late night sortie, and conversation had been awkward at best. The only positive thing was she made no remarks to suggest she knew he had got up in the middle of the night.
As he drove back to Limoges he mulled over whether there was any opportunity for him to get Aimee away from the farm before he alerted his colleagues about the cell operating out of there.
Aimee after all wasn't wholly implicated, she was to his mind guilty only for being the sister of a man who was.
However, Lafarge knew well enough that whole families were paying for acts that were perpetrated by siblings or their children and were perceived as crimes against the state. Thus unless he acted to help her she would not be spared if she was taken in with Bernard and Lisette, and with him gone he could only shudder at what perverse and debase acts would be performed on her.
Nevertheless reluctant as he was to sacrifice her, his own future good health depended on delivering, or at least making a semblance of doing so, de Chastelain to Paris. It was clear he could only achieve that untroubled if de Blaeckere and his men were out of the way, and he had the means to ensure that happened.
He raged against himself for having allowed himself to get so intimate with Aimee, for it had seriously complicated an already complex situation and he could only blame himself for that, quite apart from the feeling of guilt he would carry around with him from now on.
He had thought he could keep himself serenely above the moral conflicts, aside from being his usual judgmental self, but now he could see that not even those who wished to distance themselves from getting their hands dirty could do so.
His temper was hardly improved when he got to headquarters and found de Blaeckere had moved into Guillemot’s office, which pretty much confirmed the spy chief would not be returning.
“Ah hell isn’t to your liking anymore then de Blaeckere,” said Lafarge coldly.
De Blaeckere, who looked to have recovered all his former arrogance after his loss of
control the day before, looked up at him and smiled thinly.
If Lafarge had been expecting at least a thank you for his actions during the bungled raid then de Blaeckere had left them behind in the phone call with Bousquet. It had probably been a ruse on the young man’s part anyway as he aimed his vitriol first at the weakened Guillemot knowing that Lafarge was only a temporary irritant.
Now with Guillemot out of the way he could assume control of all operations in the area.
“Local politics, don’t you just love them,” grinned Lafarge and carried on down the corridor towards the fresher air of his and Broglie’s office.
“Oi Lafarge, come back here,” shouted de Blaeckere, to which Lafarge paid scant notice and turned right into the detectives’ office and thence to his where he saw Broglie was already in situ, grunting a pre aperitif good morning.
Lafarge had barely sat down and poured himself a thick looking cup of black coffee when de Blaeckere burst in.
“Lafarge, I warn you, you are on borrowed time here, any more impertinence such as that and I will have you drummed out of here and on a train back to Paris to your good friend René Bousquet,” seethed de Blaeckere, panting as he spat out the words.
Broglie made as if to leave but Lafarge told him to stay put.
“Well that’s a fine way of thanking someone for saving one’s life, and those of his men who were at risk of being carted off to the morgue thanks to the foolhardiness of their leader,” said Lafarge curtly.
“That is in the past, and I have said as much to the secretary–general, who put your bravado down to other more sinister reasons. Whether that is true or not I don’t know, but as he knows you rather better than I do, then I am willing to take his word on the matter,” said de Blaeckere, his tone adopting a new level of high–handedness.
“Thus I suggest what is better for all parties concerned is that you catch de Chastelain as quickly as possible and piss off back to Paris and annoy those who have the time on their hands to put up with your meddlesome habits,” said de Blaeckere, enforcing his point by tapping Lafarge’s desk with his middle finger.
“Furthermore, I am under strict instructions to be present when you do arrest de Chastelain in case there is an unfortunate incident and you allow him to slip away…again,” he added with a knowing smile, which disconcerted Lafarge momentarily.
He recovered quickly enough, thinking there was no way de Blaeckere knew he had seen de Chastelain. For the only witnesses to that were for the moment temporarily safely ensconced in Bernard’s hut, thus the guy was obviously on a fishing expedition, albeit along the right lines.
“Well, I am touched by your concern for my future well–being and my travel plans de Blaeckere, but I’m a big boy and I can look after myself. As for de Chastelain, his apprehending is an inexact science, I know I will have him but when and where is not decided,” said Lafarge in as condescending a manner as he could manage.
De Blaeckere looked even more furious than when he had first entered the room and Broglie cast a look at Lafarge warning him to go easy. For he was dealing with a highly intelligent sociopath, who could just as easily dispose of him and believe he could clear it afterwards with Bousquet.
Lafarge, though, was in control of himself and was about to dangle a carrot so appetizing to de Blaeckere that it would erase the sour memories of the previous part of the conversation. Lafarge was reluctant to do so but he saw little option and compromise being the operative word of the war he was now going to offer one.
“Now, moles and other such annoyances aside, de Blaeckere, and our own personal antipathy to each other, I do have some cast iron intelligence for you that will help in our battle with ‘terrorists’, or the Résistance, depending on how you look at things,” said Lafarge.
“Regardless of whether it was Guillemot’s fault regarding placing too much trust in the intelligence or not, your reputation took a blow with those you want to impress in Paris and probably to a lesser extent in Vichy.
“Thus I can point you in the direction of a farmhouse not too far from here, well closer to Oradour but still in your catchment area where there is a veritable vipers’ nest of terrorists, plus an excellent wine cellar as booty,” added Lafarge smiling warmly.
De Blaeckere looked at Lafarge searching his face to see whether this was a wind up and whether to trust him or not, as this seemed a most unlikely offering from someone who appeared to be so lukewarm to the present regime.
However, Lafarge remained stony–faced and de Blaeckere, evidently convinced, gestured to Broglie to bring a map from his desk so he could get a proper idea of where the property was situated.
Lafarge had noted down the directions he and Aimée had taken from Oradour so he would not be obliged to go on this operation. Quite aside from getting hold of de Chastelain, he did not wish to see the look in Aimée’s eyes when she and her family and friends were rounded up.
He could just about cope with the sense of guilt and shame, and the irony he was sacrificing a woman in his pursuit of solving the murder of another one.
However, he didn't think he would be able to handle physically being there when she was arrested, the Judas kiss and all that didn't play with him let alone from the fact he was not religious at all.
He had long ago forsaken his beliefs and besides what good had they done to anybody, did they provide succour when you were loaded onto a train to be taken god knows where or was it just emotional baggage best left behind on the platform? He thought the latter but then as he acknowledged that that was a problem he would not have to face should he ever be sent east.
De Blaeckere wrote everything down fastidiously and marked all the relevant points of the farm and its landmarks such as the lake and the hut, which he had Lafarge also do a rough drawing of, and then posed the question the detective had been waiting for.
“You are remarkably well–informed Lafarge, for a man who hasn’t travelled very much outside this town, how do you know all this?” he asked.
“I spent last night there de Blaeckere. They were very good hosts, too good in fact, and that aroused my suspicions. Thus I took a late night walk and stumbled upon their little secret,” said Lafarge evenly.
“Excellent. Was there a woman involved that kept you overnight?” asked de Blaeckere leering at Lafarge.
“Yes, there was as a matter of fact. A charming lady, an actress actually, well regarded by Guitry and other leading friends of our partners,” replied Lafarge, hoping the emphasis on Aimee’s well–regarded metropolitan friends would play in her favour with de Blaeckere.
“Hmm, well she is a stupid girl then isn’t she. Mind you, most actresses aren’t blessed with brains equivalent to their talents. That doesn’t excuse her being mixed up in terrorist activity either. So she will get no mercy from me,” said de Blaeckere.
“I would advise you to not be too trigger happy with her de Blaeckere or to place her downstairs in one of your hellhole torture chambers before you refer back to Paris,” said Lafarge icily.
De Blaeckere shook his head disdainfully at Lafarge and turned to Broglie.
“Right Broglie, I will want you and your men, who are all fit and well after yesterday’s disgraceful lack of action on your part to be ready in an hour,” he said taunting Broglie, who bristled at the criticism but nodded his head.
“As for you Lafarge, you can sit this one out, and before you start thanking me, it isn’t any philanthropic act by myself but just in case you became all sentimental once you saw your tart,” said de Blaeckere viciously.
“I have to say, though, you are a funny one Lafarge. One moment a holier than thou crusading knight coming to the rescue of that woman downstairs, the next charging like some Great War poilu into an enemy house and now delivering on a plate a woman you were only fucking a few hours ago.
“I may be in your eyes a vicious, fanatical diehard, whose university education should have taught him the difference between right and wrong. However, if you opened your eyes you w
ould notice how many of our German friends are from a similar background, and lawyers to boot.
“You on the other hand don’t seem to know which side you are on and that makes you dangerous for everybody. A loose cannon is the last thing either side should be relying on, whose mood swings dictates what side he plumps for on any given day.
“You are a cold fish Lafarge, one not for eating lest it poison those who do so.
“I will make sure that your actress friend knows exactly who was responsible for her and her family’s untimely deaths. For die they will whether it be before they have been tortured or after will depend on their level of resistance when we move in, though, I would prefer we get the chance to interrogate them.
“Why perhaps your name might come up in a compromising and unflattering manner.
“In the meantime to ensure you don’t have regrets while we are en route I will leave one of my men here with you so as you don’t make a phone call. Alright?” and with that de Blaeckere sarcastically doffed his hat at Lafarge and left the room.
Once he had left the offices Broglie without saying anything poured them two glasses of red wine.
“Thanks, Broglie. I need this,” said Lafarge appreciatively and downed it in one.
Broglie patted him on the shoulder and poured him another one.
“I will explain it to you another time if you don’t mind. For the moment, I am too confused to really explain myself, save that it will make my own plan easier to achieve,” said Lafarge, feeling profoundly angry and depressed.
“It’s alright Gaston, we have all done things which ordinarily we wouldn’t have. I mean obviously there was always before the war the odd fit up of a suspect, but I am happy with myself in that they were always guilty. It was just a case of having the evidence in place at the right time,” said Broglie.
“Anyways, sometimes it is best to just go through the motions every day, dull it with a good drink or three, and hope that sometime it is going to come to a halt and normal service will resume,” said Broglie.