‘If you think that’s best, sir,’ he said, trying to hide a smile.
The commandant took Marc’s Gestapo paperwork, tore out several sheets and threw them in his waste basket.
‘Monsieur Verne,’ the commandant said, ‘it appears that the paperwork for 6060452 is incomplete. See to it that he gets new documents, with a suitable date of birth. Then enter him against our quota for the agricultural labour programme.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Verne said, sounding as if he’d much rather have given Marc a flogging. ‘I’ll get one of the girls to type it up immediately. I believe that Organisation Todt’s next train leaves for Frankfurt on Tuesday. I’d suggest leaving Hortefeux manacled in the courtyard for his own safety until then.’
‘Frankfurt,’ Marc said, as his jaw dropped. ‘That’s in Germany, isn’t it?’
The commandant nodded. ‘It was the last time I looked. Is that a problem for you?’
Marc had to make a split-second decision. But with no realistic prospect of escape or rescue and the strong possibility of being murdered back in the cell, there was really no decision to make.
*
Henderson was up on a set of steps dusting the rarely used bottles high above the bar when he heard German army boots on the stairs.
‘The bar doesn’t open until twelve,’ Henderson shouted, hoping to save the German the bother of coming all the way up.
‘This isn’t a social call,’ Oberst Bauer said, as he came around the top of the stairs and sat on a bar stool.
‘How’s my son?’ Henderson asked, struggling to contain his anger.
‘He’s doing fine,’ Bauer said. ‘I went by his cell when he was eating breakfast this morning. He seemed rather bored, but that’s to be expected.’
Henderson reached behind the bar and pulled out a paper bag. ‘I thought you might come by today,’ he said. ‘There’s a clean shirt and underwear for Marc. Plus some chocolate, a peach and apple pie from the restaurant and a couple of books to read.’
‘It’s most irregular for Gestapo prisoners to receive these things,’ Bauer said.
Henderson took one of the bottles of American bourbon up from behind the bar. ‘Perhaps …’ he began.
‘I don’t drink,’ Bauer said. ‘I’m not here for idle chat and if I want any of Madame Mercier’s black market goods I’m perfectly entitled to seize them. I’m here because I want to know if you’ve heard anything that might be of interest to me.’
Henderson shook his head. ‘I’m trying but it’s difficult, Herr Oberst. Our French clients are still not allowed in the bar and the German guests speak in German, which I can’t understand.’
‘I’m more interested in Madame Mercier,’ Bauer said. ‘Any information you have on her black market dealings could be valuable in securing the release of your son.’
‘I understand,’ Henderson said. ‘I’d very much like to visit Marc. Other Gestapo prisoners are allowed visitors, I believe.’
Bauer rose up from his stool and thumped on the bar. ‘Mr Hortefeux,’ he shouted. ‘You do not make demands of me. So far your son has been well treated at Gestapo headquarters, but you’ve given me nothing of value. Things could become a good deal less pleasant for Marc if I do not start receiving more cooperation from you.’
‘I understand, Herr Oberst,’ Henderson said, raising his hands meekly. ‘I’ll try my best.’
‘For your son’s sake I hope your best is good enough,’ Bauer said. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Hortefeux.’
As Bauer walked down the stairs, Luc – who’d arrived in town a couple of hours earlier – came out of a storage room behind the bar. The plan was for him to replace Marc as Mamba Noir’s cigarette boy and he’d been trying to find a waistcoat that buttoned over his broad chest without hanging halfway down to his knees.
‘Have you got any evidence that Marc is even still alive?’ Luc asked bluntly.
Henderson didn’t like this line of reasoning, especially coming from Luc who he found irritating. But it was a perfectly valid point.
‘I’ve had no evidence that Marc is still alive,’ Henderson replied. ‘On the other hand, they’ve had no particular reason to kill him.’
‘Have you tried getting someone inside Gestapo headquarters?’ Luc asked. ‘Maybe a cleaner or something, who could verify that he’s still alive?’
‘We’ve looked into some options but the Gestapo runs a tight ship,’ Henderson said. ‘As far as we can tell they don’t employ any local staff, but I’m keeping my ear to the ground all the same.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Dot hadn’t been out of her stable for several days because of an excruciating foot abscess. A vet had drilled a small hole in her infected hoof to enable the pus to drain off, but it was Edith’s job to keep the wound clean.
She stroked the old horse’s side to settle her down before squatting on a three-legged milking stool. Getting Dot to raise her front left hoof was easy, because she wasn’t keeping any of her weight on it.
‘Good girl,’ Edith said, before splashing a piece of rag with vinegar and using it to clean off a mixture of manure and dried pus. She then used an awl to unblock the drainage hole.
Younger horses got cranky or put up a fight when they were sick, but Dot was never a problem and Edith rewarded her with a carrot.
‘You’re on the mend, old girl,’ Edith said. ‘We’ll have you galloping in no time.’
This was a joke, because Dot was a carthorse and hadn’t galloped anywhere in years. Truth told, if it wasn’t for the shortage of horses caused by the Germans commandeering all the trucks, Madame Mercier probably would have sent Dot to the butcher rather than pay a vet’s bill when she got sick.
As Edith stepped out of the stable a hand clamped her mouth shut. She sank her teeth into a young man’s little finger as he picked her off the ground and threw her against the wall.
‘Bitch,’ the youth shouted, as he pulled his bleeding finger out of Edith’s mouth.
She turned around and got a look at her attacker. He had a scarf tied over his mouth and a wide-brimmed hat putting his face in shadow. His arms were well muscled, but his voice and skin seemed young. No more than sixteen, she guessed.
‘We’ve got nothing here worth stealing,’ Edith said urgently. ‘There’s some fruit we give to the horses, but it’s mostly rotten.’
‘I’m not a thief, I need information,’ the young man said nervously.
‘What would I know about anything?’ Edith asked.
‘The powder you delivered to the laundry,’ the man said. ‘Who did you get it from?’
‘Powder? What powder? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
The man took Edith’s slender hand and gently squeezed her knuckles. ‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ he said. ‘But whoever gave you that powder has links to something important. If you give me a name I’ll let you go.’
‘You’re off your rocker,’ Edith said. ‘I have no idea what this powder you’re talking about is.’
The man swung Edith around and bent her over the side of a cart.
‘I don’t want to hurt a little girl,’ he said. ‘But I know there’s a guerrilla movement in town. The powder you brought to the laundry and the train yard getting blown up. You can see I’m no German. I just need to get in touch with these people.’
‘Get stuffed,’ Edith said, as she stamped on the youth’s foot and broke free. But he was much bigger than Edith and she was cornered. The youth grabbed Edith’s blouse, thumped her back against the wall and throttled her.
‘Please don’t make me hurt you,’ he said.
Edith gasped and coughed as the pressure came off her throat. ‘You’ll have to kill me,’ she spat. ‘But I’m waiting for two carts to come back soon and the drivers will make mincemeat out of you. So I wouldn’t stick around.’
The youth looked round, unsure what to do. A girl walked down the sloping path from the main stable gate. She was fifteen or so. She’d covered her head with a knitted shawl
, but her gait and the shape of her body were enough for Edith to recognise her from the laundry.
‘You’re completely useless,’ the laundress told the youth, as she bent down and picked up the pointed metal awl that Edith had used on Dot’s hoof.
Dot was extremely trusting and her head swung around over the stable doors, expecting a treat from the stranger.
‘Edith, listen to me,’ the girl said ferociously, as she stroked Dot’s cheek. ‘If you don’t tell me who you got the powder from, I’ll jam this point in the horse’s eye.’
Edith had known Dot all her life and if the girl blinded her, she’d be put down for sure.
‘It’s Madame Mercier’s horse,’ Edith said fiercely. ‘She’ll hunt you down.’
‘Do you think I’m scared of that old bag?’ the girl said. ‘I’ll give you three seconds to save the horse’s eye. Three, two …’
‘OK,’ Edith said desperately, as the girl held the point of the awl centimetres from Dot’s cloudy brown eye. ‘I can’t tell you the man’s name, but I can probably help you find him.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ the girl said.
‘It’s true,’ Edith said. ‘That’s how they work. It means nobody can give too much away if they’re caught.’
‘So where can we find this man?’ the girl asked.
‘I don’t know where he works,’ Edith lied. ‘But I’m pretty sure where he lives. If I meet you back here at about eight o’clock I’ll take you.’
‘OK,’ the youth said.
But the girl wasn’t having it. ‘Do you think I’m an idiot?’ she hissed. ‘How will we know you’re not setting us up? You’ll stay with us until the meeting, and if turns out you’re trying to trick us it won’t be a horse that loses an eye.’
*
With Marc gone, Henderson now passed the radio messages to Paul. On most days, Henderson dropped a coded message into a mailbox behind a tobacconist’s shop and Paul would collect it a couple of hours later. But once a week he’d meet Boo at a café near the edge of town.
‘We’ve moved again now that PT’s gone,’ Boo said, as she sat in the afternoon sun sipping her coffee. ‘The other place seemed perfect, but that old girl kept sticking her nose in and she was half off her rocker. You never knew what she’d say to whom.’
‘Do you think she had any clue what you were up to?’ Henderson asked.
‘No,’ Boo said. ‘I won’t tell you where we’ve moved to.’
Henderson nodded. ‘Absolutely not. We’ve got drop boxes, fall-backs and the safe house if there’s a real emergency.’
‘According to this morning’s signal, Madeline II’s making good progress. PT should be back at Porth Navas tomorrow.’
‘The latest load of equipment was well above expectations,’ Henderson said. ‘According to Luc, the biggest problem they’re having at Kerneval is finding where to hide everything. We’ve got explosives, mines, silenced pistols, plus money and plenty of chocolate and cigarettes to keep our friends happy.’
‘Will Luc stay with you like Marc did?’
‘No,’ Henderson said. ‘It might seem odd if I took another boy in, especially with Bauer keeping an eye on me. Madame Mercier has found him his own room a couple of doors from my place. Once Luc knows his way around I’ll arrange for him to collect Joel’s messages and drop them for Paul. The less direct contact I have with people at the moment, the better.’
‘I could use some money,’ Boo said.
‘No problem,’ Henderson said, as he drained his coffee and threw a few francs into his saucer. ‘I’ll give the OK to Joel. Rosie can collect a couple of thousand francs from the café at Kerneval tomorrow.’
‘And I suppose I’d better get home,’ Boo said. ‘Always good catching up.’
They exchanged a friendly kiss before walking off in opposite directions. If either Boo or Henderson was being tailed by the Germans, the meeting provided an opportunity for them to begin following the other party, so Henderson took unnecessary turns and doubled back a couple of times to ensure that he wasn’t being followed.
It was on the last of these diversions that Henderson spotted a black Mercedes convertible parked illegally on the pavement in a narrow alleyway. Oberst Bauer was taking a break, sitting in the front passenger seat, drinking milk, with a half-eaten peach and some Mamba Noir apple pie sitting on the glove box flap in front of him.
Henderson didn’t turn back because it would seem suspicious. He kept walking, passing less than two metres from Bauer, who remained cheerfully engrossed in the pie he’d been given for Marc. If Henderson had a gun he would have happily shot Bauer, but instead he quickened his pace and walked home, ashamed to find himself close to tears.
Before heading to his own rooms to get changed ready for his Saturday night shift, Henderson stopped by Luc’s place. The house was similar to the one where Henderson was staying, but the loft had been converted into living space and Luc had a cramped but well-furnished room under the eaves.
‘Looks like you’ve landed on your feet,’ Henderson said.
Luc eyed Henderson suspiciously. ‘Have you been crying?’
‘Spot of hay fever,’ Henderson lied. ‘Paul, Rosie and Boo all said to welcome you to France. Do you think you’ll be OK on the job tonight?’
‘I hang the tray round my neck and sell cigarettes,’ Luc said. ‘How hard can it be?’
‘It’s Saturday,’ Henderson said. ‘So expect to work hard and always be polite, even when some Nazi arsehole thinks it’s a big lark to strike his match off your trouser leg.’
‘Gotcha,’ Luc said. ‘I’ll start getting changed and I’ll meet you over there?’
‘Sounds about right,’ Henderson said. ‘But I’ve got another job for you. I’m more certain than ever that Bauer is lying to me about Marc. The only way we’ll know for sure is to take the bull by the horns.’
‘Getting something on Bauer?’ Luc asked.
Henderson nodded. ‘I need to know everything about him. In particular, where he lives and what he does when he’s off duty. Do you think you can manage that?’
‘I’ll figure something out,’ Luc said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Henderson heard footsteps coming up behind as he turned the key in his front door. By the time he’d looked back, a burly lad with a scarf tied over his face had bundled him into the hallway. As Henderson slipped on polished floorboards and stumbled towards the staircase, the lad was followed inside by Edith and the pair who’d abducted her two hours earlier.
‘Mouth shut,’ the big lad ordered. ‘We’re just here to talk.’
One of the women who lived on the ground floor stuck her head out of her doorway. ‘What’s all this racket?’
‘Mind your business,’ the big lad shouted, before shutting the door in her face.
Henderson had ended up spread-eagled over the bottom of the stairs. He used the distraction to deliver a two-footed kick. As the bulky teenager doubled over clutching his guts, Henderson sprang up and gave him a two-handed punch to the back of the head, which left the lad sprawled out, unmasked and flat on his face.
As Henderson stepped around his body, ready to deal with the other pair, the girl pulled an ancient flintlock pistol out of a bag and pointed it at Henderson’s chest.
‘I’ll kill you,’ she shouted.
The girl was all nerves and, with their leader flat out on the floor, she had no clear idea what to do. It was the kind of situation where triggers get pulled for no good reason.
‘Easy,’ Henderson said, as he backed up to the stairs with his hands raised. ‘You be careful with that gun. I’m moving away, so why don’t you point it up at the ceiling? Then there won’t be any accidents.’
Down on the floorboards, the big fellow rolled over clutching his side. He was older than the other two, but still spawned teenage acne.
‘Help him up,’ the girl ordered.
The lad shook his head as he sat up. ‘Let me get my breath first.’
; ‘I’m sorry, Mr Hortefeux,’ Edith shouted from down the hall. ‘They threatened to blind the horses.’
‘Shut up,’ the younger boy said, shoving Edith against the front door.
‘Edith, don’t worry,’ Henderson said, keeping a nervous eye on the gun still pointing at him from less than two metres. ‘Done is done. Now tell me what you people want?’
‘Up in your room,’ the big lad said, leaning on the wall as he found his feet. ‘We need to talk.’
Henderson led the way upstairs, with the girl holding the gun to his back and the others behind.
‘Edith,’ Henderson said, ‘knock on Madame LeBras’s door and apologise for the disturbance. Tell her everything is OK now.’
‘You’re not in charge,’ the girl said angrily.
Henderson stopped walking and looked back at her. ‘Do you want the old ladies to run out into the street and shout for a gendarme?’
The girl looked back and nodded to the younger boy. ‘Let her.’
Henderson stepped into his apartment, which soon felt cramped with five bodies inside.
‘Sit on the bed,’ the girl ordered.
The big lad peered into the bedroom to make sure nobody was in there, as the younger boy told Edith to sit at the table.
‘So, here we are,’ Henderson said. ‘What’s all this about?’
‘You got hold of the powder that Edith brought to the laundry,’ the big lad began. ‘And my people think your group was involved in the train explosions too.’
Henderson didn’t know how much Edith had given away. If they saw that the first answer he gave was a lie, he’d have problems getting them to believe anything he said afterwards, so he sidestepped the question.
‘And who are your people?’ he asked.
The big lad smiled. He was good-looking in a wholesome sort of way, but the zits ruined it. ‘I ask the questions, Mr Hortefeux.’
Again, Henderson avoided a direct answer. ‘I work behind the bar at Mamba Noir. A gentleman approached me about the matter.’
Henderson left this hanging in the air. When the big lad didn’t react violently to his fabrication, he elaborated.