Codename Eagle (12 page)

He stared up the deserted street. The lorry was long gone. Why hadn’t they waited? It could have been all over, there and then. Finished. And Victor would have been the hero. And paid, too.

But maybe he still could be. He would follow Bernard and the others, see where they went, then report back to the Germans. The road was tight; it would be easier to drive to the end, turn around and drive back.

He put the car into first and pulled away, driving much faster than usual. Just as he reached the end of the street, a man on a bicycle came suddenly around the corner, turning too wide. Victor braked, his heart in his mouth, as the bike lurched towards the car. He wrenched on the steering wheel and the Peugeot swerved. The bicycle wobbled and came to a standstill.

The rider was an elderly man. Victor knew him slightly. He glared into the car. “What d’you think you’re doing, going so fast? Are you in a race? You could kill someone driving like that!”

“You were too far out in the road!” Victor yelled back. “You should watch where you’re going, silly old fool!”

“Don’t you shout at me, Victor Forêt! I suppose you’re drunk on your own wine again! And I’ll ride my bicycle how I like, I’ve lived in this road all my life.”

“Well, it’s a miracle you’ve lived so long, then! Now get out of my way!”

Swearing under his breath, Victor drove on. He turned the corner, stopped, reversed, stopped again and drove back into the road he had just left. The man on the bicycle shook a fist as the car passed, and Victor mouthed another curse.

He’d lost time, but hopefully he would see Bernard and the others when he turned the next corner.

He didn’t. They were nowhere to be seen.

Victor drove slowly on, peering into lighted windows on both sides of the road.

He passed a turning on his right. Nothing. He reached a junction with roads going both left and right. Nothing.

Victor swore loudly. He’d lost them.

O
dile Mazet had a way of making most people feel at ease. Inigo and Max were total strangers and from different worlds, but within minutes of being introduced they were talking comfortably.

Max was still frantic with worry about his wife and desperate for news of her, but Inigo had brought out a bottle of some sort of spirit, filled two small glasses and, after a toast to freedom, began telling his new guest about his own battles against fascism.

Odile and Josette refused the offer of a drink. They listened politely as Inigo spoke, but Josette’s thoughts were elsewhere. She was worried, too – about Paul and Didier. They’d been gone since early morning, leaving for Bélesta with Max’s friend, Antoine Granel, but now it was evening and they had not returned, and no word had come through.

They couldn’t telephone; Max had said there was no phone at either his or Antoine’s house. But they couldn’t possibly still be with Antoine, they must have gone somewhere else. But where? And why?

It was frustrating not knowing. And Josette wasn’t just worried; she was also highly put out that she wasn’t involved in the action. She didn’t want to babysit Max; she wanted to be out there on the front line, doing her bit. But when Paul and Didier decided to go to Bélesta that morning, they had just assumed that it would be they who went, and not Josette.

She hadn’t argued at the time but she’d been getting more and more angry about it all day. It was always the same, just because she was a girl.

She was thinking that she would make her feelings perfectly clear to both Paul and Didier when they did get back, when there was an urgent knocking at the front door. Everyone in the room tensed.

Inigo was the first to react. “Out the back,” he said to Max. “In the privy. Lock yourself in and stay quiet.”

Max glanced anxiously at Odile, who nodded. Silently the scientist got to his feet and went out the back door to the small yard.

Inigo, Odile and Josette watched through the window and saw him go into the tiny wooden lavatory building.

The knocking on the front door resumed. Odile picked up the glass that Max had been drinking from and placed it on the table in front of her.

Inigo was on his feet. He opened the door of a tall, upright cabinet and pulled out a slim, sharp-bladed knife, which he slipped into the back of his belt.

“It might not come to it, but just in case,” he said to Odile. “I swore years ago that no fascist would ever take me. I meant it then and I mean it now. But I’m sorry you two are here.”

Odile and Josette said nothing, but as Inigo went through to the room leading to the front door, Odile took her granddaughter’s hand and held it tightly.

They heard the door swing open, and then Inigo’s voice. “Oh, it’s you! Come in, come in.”

Josette’s heart was pounding in her chest. Her father walked into the room.

“Papa!” she said almost angrily. “You terrified us!”

Henri looked bewildered. “I just knocked on the door. What was I meant to do? And where’s Max?”

Josette and Odile turned to look through the rear window at the tiny outside lavatory. Then they turned back and looked at each other. And for the first time that day, they laughed.

“I was thinking about what Paul said this morning,” Henri said when Max had returned to the room. “And he was right; if Antoine Granel has heard rumours about me running a Resistance group here in Lavelanet, then others have almost certainly heard them, too.”

Odile slowly nodded her head. “And with new enemies nearby, that becomes even more dangerous.”

“Exactly. That’s why I thought it best to meet here, rather than at home or the factory.” He turned at Inigo. “That is, if you don’t mind, of course.”

“I’m honoured, Henri,” the Spaniard said, refilling his glass to the brim and downing it in one go.

Josette couldn’t stop herself from thinking that if Inigo kept drinking at that pace he wouldn’t be much use if it came to a fight. But she stopped herself from mentioning it.

“What about Paul and Didier,” she asked her father, “any word from them?”

Henri shook his head. “From them, no.”

“Then what do we do?” Max asked urgently. “We can’t sit here doing nothing, those people have my wife!”

“We can only wait,” Henri replied. “Paul and Didier have been gone for most of the day; we must hope they’ve discovered something. I’ve left instructions with my wife for them to come here as soon as they get back.”

“You said you hadn’t heard from them,” Odile said to her son. “Does that mean you’ve heard from someone else?”

“Yes, I have. From London; news about
Eagle
.”

“Eagle?”
Max said, looking confused. “What is
Eagle
?”

“It’s … it’s the codename for … for another operation we are involved in.” Belatedly, Henri had realized that he shouldn’t have mentioned
Eagle
in front of Max or Inigo, or, come to that, his mother. It was information they didn’t need to know.

Nevertheless, Inigo was impressed. “Wonderful,” he said, thumping down a flattened palm on the table. He refilled his glass again and lifted it in a toast. “Death to all fascists!”

A
t last Victor Forêt was receiving the respect he deserved. He felt better, much less tense, and the tightness gripping his chest for the past couple of days was easing at last.

He had reported his sighting of Max Bernard to the German officer, who thanked him generously and complimented him on his observational skills. If the German was at all angry or even frustrated that Victor had spotted Bernard and then lost him again within seconds, he didn’t show it. And when Victor announced that he had even more vital information, Lau smiled indulgently. “Please continue,” he said.

“The old woman and the girl I saw with Bernard, they are family to Henri Mazet, his mother and his daughter.”

“And?”

Victor sat back in his chair and rested the interlocked fingers of his hands on his bulging beer gut. He was more confident now. “Last year I suspected that Henri Mazet was part of the Resistance group I thought was operating in Lavelanet. I sent in my report; perhaps you saw it?”

Lau nodded.

“You may remember that I also suspected a gendarme officer, Gaston Rouzard, of being part of the group.”

“Yes, I read that.”

“But then Rouzard was killed and the rumours of a Resistance group faded away. There wasn’t much to report on after that, people here seemed to have lost their appetite for resistance.”

“Remind me of how this Rouzard died?”

“He was shot. No one was ever charged with the crime and there were no suspects. Gaston was a policeman and sometimes policemen make enemies. But seeing Max Bernard with the Mazet women today made me think that I was right after all about Henri Mazet. He must be Resistance, Bernard knew that and went to him for help. It seems likely, don’t you think?” Victor smiled his most ingratiating smile and waited while Lau considered his theory.

“You know where Henri Mazet lives?”

“Yes, it’s a big house close to the edge of town. Stands on its own; all very grand. He owns the biggest textile factory in Lavelanet, too. Plenty of money.”

“And his mother, does she live with him?”

“No, she has a house by the river. I know the house – not the street name or the number, but I could show you the place. When I was driving here I realized that Bernard must be in hiding there.”

Lau beckoned to his radio operator, Otto Berg. “Make contact with headquarters and tell them I am confident we will capture our target tomorrow. Set a time as soon as possible for the pick-up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Berg left the room and Lau turned to his second-in-command, Erich Steidle. “Bernard won’t return to Bélesta, so it’s pointless watching his house any more. Go and fetch the others – we’ll need them tomorrow. Use our friend Monsieur Forêt’s car.”

“My car!” Victor said looking horrified. “But—”

“Unless you have any objections, monsieur,” Lau said, his voice suddenly much less cordial.

Victor’s newfound confidence swiftly drained away. “No … not objections … not exactly.” He looked at Steidle. “But you will take care of the car, won’t you?”

Steidle grinned. “I’ll treat it as though it were my own.” He held out one hand, palm upwards. “Keys?”

Reluctantly, Victor dug into a pocket and brought out the keys to his car. Steidle took them, nodded and left without another word.

As the door closed, Lau smiled at Victor. “You’ll be staying here with us tonight.”

“What!”

“You told me you can show us the way to the old woman’s house. You’ll do exactly that first thing in the morning.”

“But … but I can’t stay here. I have customers … my café…”

“Monsieur Forêt, I have much to do this evening, so please don’t waste my time. You’ll go with two of my men to the woman’s house, and if, as you predict, Bernard is hiding there, they’ll bring him back here. My own team will target his other possible hiding place. This time Max Bernard will not escape us.” He smiled at Victor. “Then your part of the operation will be finished and you can return to your café in your precious car.”

The tension gripping Victor’s chest had returned. His bottom lip dropped; he was short of breath. He stared, mouth gaping.

“Close your mouth, Monsieur Forêt,” Lau said. “You look like a fish.”

Victor snapped his mouth shut.

“Of course, that leaves me the twins to deal with,” Lau continued, to himself more than to Victor. “I would be justified in shooting them both after the way they betrayed us.”

The twins were locked in a room upstairs, along with Julia Bernard.

Victor’s main concern, as always, was for himself. “But if you shoot them, that would mean all sorts of complications later,” he managed to gasp. “How would it be explained? They’ve been seen with me, there would be questions. My cover could be compromised.”

“I don’t intend to shoot them,” Lau said curtly. “We’ll need their lorry in the operation tomorrow, and when we leave here for good they’ll do exactly as they were originally meant to do: provide the torches for our plane when it lands. If they cooperate, with no further stupidity or heroic actions, they’ll live.”

The words were spoken casually, but the threat was there, as it always was with Hauptmann Kurt Lau.

As Victor nodded his head vigorously, the radio operator returned to the room.

“Yes?” Lau said.

“Weather report for tomorrow is good, sir: a full moon, clear sky. After that it’s more uncertain for several days. So pick-up is set for tomorrow, sir, at around midnight.”

Lau smiled. “Good. We’ll be ready.”

T
he pistol felt as though it was burning a hole in Alain Noury’s pocket.

A lot of old weapons had made their way across the Pyrenees during the Spanish Civil War. Spanish weapons, German, Russian, American, even ancient Mexican rifles had been carried across the mountains with the fleeing Republicans.

Some had been given away, others sold, exchanged for food, stolen, or ferreted away to be sold at a future date.

That was how Alain Noury had come into possession of his “Spanish Colt” pistol. It was called the Spanish Colt because it was an exact replica of the US army issue Colt 45, but smaller and 9mm. The pistol, with a supply of ammunition, had become his for just a few francs a couple of years earlier.

And having fetched it from its usual hiding place at the house in Espezel, Alain felt now that at the very least it had to be brandished.

He was sitting in his van, across the square from the café, waiting for Victor Forêt to return.

Night had fallen and Alain was cold and fed up. He wanted to know what had happened to Victor, but was getting tired of waiting.

He looked over to the café for what was probably the twentieth time, then, deciding to take a chance, climbed out of the van and strode quickly across the square.

The doorbell jangled as he pushed open the café door. Every head turned in his direction. Not a lot happened in Forêt’s bar at night: a new arrival was something to break the boredom.

Alain felt uneasy as he stepped inside, not knowing if Victor had told Celine that he’d thrown him out of the café and banned him from coming back. If Celine ordered Alain out, he would go without an argument. He didn’t want to get into a fight with Celine. More importantly, he didn’t want to be known as someone who had been beaten in a fight with her.