Codename Eagle (13 page)

But as he stepped up to the bar, it seemed as though his fears were unfounded. Celine managed a grudging nod. It wasn’t exactly a warm welcome, but it was as good as it got with Celine.

“A beer, please,” Alain said, a little tentatively.

Celine drew the beer, thudded the glass onto the bar top and picked up the few coins Alain had placed there. She said nothing; giving customer satisfaction was not Celine’s way.

Relaxing a little, Alain sipped his beer and glanced around the room at the half a dozen men seated at tables. He recognized them all, but no one showed any interest in starting a conversation. That suited Alain: he was there for information, not a friendly chat.

It was hardly warmer inside the café than it had been out in the van. In the open stove, a single log appeared to be losing the battle to stay alight. More logs were stacked to one side, but none of the customers had been brave enough yet to lift one from the pile and slide it into the stove: if Celine wanted the place warmer, she would do it herself.

“Where’s Victor tonight?” Alain asked Celine, who had propped her burly frame onto a wooden stool and was sawing at her pink-painted fingernails with a metal file.

She scowled, but didn’t look up as she continued with her work. “You tell me. Went out hours ago and left me here minding the place. Like a servant! I’ll kill him when he gets back!”

Alain smiled and took another sip of beer, but then Celine stopped sawing her nails and glared at him. “It was your cousin he went with, one of those twins from the forest. What are they are up to? Where’ve they gone, eh?”

“No idea,” Alain said. “Didn’t Victor tell you?”

“I wouldn’t be asking you if he’d told me, would I?” Celine growled. She went back to her nails and then sighed loudly as a customer approached the bar. Reluctantly she hauled herself off the stool to serve him.

Alain drained his beer. There was no point in staying any longer; he’d learned as much as he was going to, and if Victor did turn up, there would be trouble.

“Thanks,” he said. Celine didn’t bother to reply.

Nodding to a couple of the men, he left and returned quickly to his van. But then Alain saw two figures approaching the café. They didn’t go in, but stopped at the front of the terrace. They appeared to be looking inside.

Alain waited and watched. He couldn’t make out who they were. The square was dimly lit and the lights from the café only silhouetted the figures. After a few moments they turned and walked away.

Quietly, Alain stepped from the van and followed them, slipping his hand into his jacket pocket and curling his fingers around the pistol as he walked.

They went into the same narrow side street that Victor had taken earlier. Alain followed again, keeping his distance as before. The street was unlit, but thin strands of dull yellow light spilled from the gaps in closed shutters.

Alain could hear footsteps and low, muttered voices. Then the footsteps stopped.

Alain stopped too. He backed into the shadows of a porch.

An engine started; seconds later a motorbike passed by. Alain caught a glimpse of Didier Brunet and his friend Paul.

Them again. First on the plateau and now here. It couldn’t be a coincidence. They were up to something.

Alain’s grip on the pistol tightened. He already had a score to settle with those two, along with Henri Mazet and his daughter, Josette. Everything that had happened the previous year was their fault. It was all down to them.

Alain had been part of a lucrative and enterprising business based on robbery and murder. The victims were wealthy northerners, usually Jews, fleeing the Nazis and desperate to cross the Pyrenees to Spain and freedom. Alain, Gaston and Yvette would deliver them into the hands of their contacts, a group of Andorran mountain men.

Yvette was related to one of the Andorrans who would lead their hapless, disorientated and frightened victims part way across the mountains and then kill them, stealing their valuables and cash before disposing of their bodies.

It was going well and they were all making a small fortune. Gaston had grand ideas about taking over the local Resistance movement and using some of his cash to spread misinformation and disrupt their actions. Gaston had been old-fashioned. He wanted stability and order, and as far as he was concerned, that meant Marshal Petain and the Vichy government staying in power.

Alain and Yvette had no such ideals. They just wanted the money, and more of it.

Then Henri Mazet and the others ruined everything by killing the Andorrans and discovering Yvette and Gaston’s involvement in the scheme. Alain would have been next, which was why he had had to kill Yvette and Gaston, to stop them from giving him away. He hadn’t wanted to do it – it was a shame, a great pity – but there really was no alternative.

But ever since then, he had planned his revenge on Mazet and the others. It looked now as though the time for that revenge was fast approaching.

Alain sighed as he walked back to his van, the metal of the Spanish Colt warm in his hand.

He’d fetched the pistol from its hiding place merely to frighten Victor, but suddenly that didn’t seem quite enough any more. Alain had a strong feeling that one way or another the pistol would kill again before very long.

F
ive faces were turned in Henri’s direction, waiting for his guidance and words of wisdom, but Henri had no idea what he should say next. He had a lot on his mind and was rhythmically smoothing down the bristles of his moustache with the index finger of his right hand, as he often did when worried.

The five of them were squeezed into the back room at Inigo’s little house, seated at a rickety wooden table littered with bottles, glasses, empty coffee cups and plates bearing the remnants of a hastily assembled meal.

Paul and Didier had returned tired and hungry. As they began to tell their story, Inigo fetched bread, cheese and more of his foul-smelling garlic-stuffed sausage.

The two friends spoke as they ate, explaining what had happened at Bélesta and in the forest. Paul told of how he had managed to overhear the information about Julia, the Germans, the twins and Victor Forêt, ommitting to mention the dangerous situation in the barn.

Max was elated that his wife had been located. She was still a prisoner, yes, but at least now they knew exactly where she was being held.

And the revelation that Victor Forêt was collaborating with the enemy was no shock at all to Josette. “I
told
you I didn’t trust that man, didn’t I!” she exclaimed excitedly to Didier.

“And I told you too,” Josette said to Paul. “Remember when you first arrived here, I said I was suspicious of Victor, didn’t I?”

Josette turned her attention to her father. “He’s the traitor, and he killed Yvette, and Gaston Rouzard too.”

“That isn’t necessarily the case, Josette.”

“But it must be; it’s obvious.”

“No,” Henri said firmly, “it’s not obvious. It’s possible, that’s all. Our main focus must be on what we know for certain.”

“We went to the café earlier,” Didier said. “We know for certain that Victor wasn’t there.”

“So he’s with the Germans,” Josette said quickly. “He has to be.”

“No, he
may
be with the Germans, Josette,” Henri corrected.

Josette sighed loudly, exasperation written all over her face.

“I know we can’t act purely on wild guesses, Henri,” Paul said, “but we have to consider all possibilities now, for our own safety.”

“Yes, I agree.”

“Then we have to accept that Victor Forêt may well know about our Resistance group and that he has told the Germans about us. It was known in Bélesta, which means it’s even more likely to be known here in Lavelanet.”

Didier nodded his agreement. “So it’s possible that the Germans suspect Max has come to you for help.”

“Highly possible, yes, which means we must take great care.”

Josette was impatient to get on. “We will take care, of course, but what do we do next, Papa?”

Henri wasn’t in the least bit surprised that the direct question about a tactical plan had come from his daughter. His mother, Odile, had left earlier, and Henri had very briefly attempted to convince Josette that she should go too.

Josette’s response was exactly what Henri had anticipated. “No, Papa, I’m not going! I will not be excluded any more! I’m part of this, like Paul, like Didier and like you!”

She was right. Henri knew, much as he wanted to, that he could not exclude Josette from the operation. And even if he did, she’d force her way in somehow and that would only increase the danger for them all.

Now Paul, Didier, Josette, Max and Inigo were staring at Henri, waiting to hear his plan, but he’d been wracking his brains and had nothing concrete to offer.

The previous year, when setting up the Resistance cell, he’d given himself the code name Reynard for secrecy when in radio communications with other groups. He’d chosen Reynard because an old business friend often called him a wily old customer in business deals, cunning like a fox, and always ready with a plan or idea.

But now Henri had no ideas at all. He took a breath, thinking furiously but playing for time. “There are at least six Germans,” he said at last. “We know that from Paul and Didier. We also know they are trained soldiers and fully armed. We can’t possibly outfight them, so—”

“We can try!” Josette interrupted.

“Josette!” Didier said impatiently. “Listen to your father.”

Josette glared at Didier but stayed silent.

“Our only objective,” Henri continued, trying to figure out tactics as he talked the situation through, “is to free Max’s wife.” He spoke softly. “We can’t concern ourselves with fighting the Germans – or dealing with Victor Forêt, or for the moment, with anything else – we just have to free Julia. So…” Henri hesitated, and everyone around the table leaned forward slightly in their chair.

“Yes, Papa?” Josette said, in little more than a whisper.

“So…”

Paul and Didier exchanged a look.

“So … I’m open to suggestions on how we proceed from here.”

There was a collective sigh of disappointment. For a few moments no one spoke.

“Henri’s right,” Paul said at last. “We can’t outfight the Germans.” He remembered what Didier had said to him earlier as he continued. “And we shouldn’t take
unnecessary
risks; we have to think of the safety of us all.”

“So what do we do?” Max Bernard asked urgently. “We must free my wife.”

“And we will,” Paul replied. He glanced at Didier. “And we will have to take risks –
necessary
risks. But as we can’t outfight the enemy, we’ll have to use tactics and cunning.” He looked at Henri. “Eh, Reynard?”

“What are you getting at, Paul?” Didier asked. “What tactics?”

Henri spoke up before Paul could answer. “Look, there’s something else you need to know, Paul.”

“About what?”

“It’s
Eagle
,” Henri said. “It’s on.”

“Oh,” Paul breathed. In the excitement and tension of the day,
Eagle
had completely slipped from his mind. “When?”

Henri hesitated. After his earlier mistake he’d said nothing more in front of Max and Inigo about the operation. But with events moving so swiftly and
Eagle
imminent, there seemed little point in holding back the information from anyone in the room. “Tomorrow.”

“What!”

“Tomorrow night.”

“No, not tomorrow, it can’t be then. They’ll have to put it back for a few days.”

Henri shook his head. “That’s impossible, you know that.”

“But I’m not ready to go.”

“Paul, do you realize how much planning has gone into this operation? The British Government, their secret forces, the Royal Navy – they’re all involved, as well as our contacts in Portugal and Spain. And our Resistance friends from nearby.”

“Nearby?”

“Limoux and Puivert. The movement is growing, Paul, and these people are coming to help you.”

Inigo raised his bushy eyebrows and his eyes widened as he looked at Paul. “You must be a very important person.”

“We have to tell them I’ve changed my mind, Henri,” Paul said. “I don’t want to go.”

“It’s too late for that, Paul. You made your decision, you have to stick to it.”

“Then just ask them to give me a few more days.”

“I told you, that’s impossible. The weather reports say tomorrow night will be clear with very light winds; perfect for a small plane to land. After that, the weather is predicted to turn bad, possibly for a week or more; with rain and low cloud a plane couldn’t land. So it must be tomorrow night.”

The room fell silent. Everyone’s eyes were on Paul. He thought rapidly before speaking again. “Then our only chance to rescue Julia is tomorrow morning.”

“What!” Henri and Max said together.

“Why, Paul?” Didier said. “Why tomorrow?”

“Because if a plane is coming for me tomorrow night, then another has to be coming for the Germans.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I heard them say it was soon. They’ll have had the weather reports too; they’ll know their only chance of getting out is tomorrow. But they have to find Max first, which means they have to go searching for him. And while they’re away from the wood yard, we’ll go in and snatch Julia.”

Everyone stopped to consider. Paul’s reasoning made sense and was even the beginning of a plan of action.

“You make it sound easy,” Didier said eventually.

“I know it won’t be easy, but it’s our only chance.”

“But they’re not fools; they won’t leave Julia completely unguarded.”

“No, but a single guard, or even two, will be a lot easier to fight than six heavily armed Germans.”

“We agreed before that we couldn’t fight them.”

“All right, we don’t fight them, we draw the guards from the house by creating some sort of diversion. You still have your shotgun, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“We can make a noise with that.”

Inigo had been listening intently, looking from one face to another. “If you want to create a diversion, and a big noise, I can do a lot better than a shotgun.”