Death Ray (11 page)

‘Is that what I think it is, Finn?’ said Loki, eyeing up my glass.

I nodded and then told Freya, ‘Whatever plans Renard had for this evening, I bet everything will change as soon as he finds out what’s happened. When he knows the authorities are on to him, he’ll be forced to make a move.’

Loki grabbed my glass, downed the shot of whisky in one gulp, screwed up his face and coughed violently.

‘Hey!’ I said. Freya patted him on the back. Serves him right, I thought.

Recovering his breath, Loki grinned at me. ‘Damn, I needed that! Thanks, Finn. I owe you one. So, what’s the plan?’

I peered towards the door at the back of the club. Was Renard, the Nazi master spy, just a matter of feet away? Did he have the blueprints on him? Was he in the process of handing them over to an accomplice? Was he making arrangements to get the blueprints out of
the
country and to Berlin? It was so frustrating. Surely we couldn’t just sit there and do nothing.

Freya leaned across the table again. ‘I know our orders were to sit tight, but Walker and the brigadier don’t know about what happened after you telephoned them. It changes everything, doesn’t it?’ Lowering her voice, she added, ‘Have you still got the waiter’s gun?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then we should take matters into our own hands. If Renard’s out the back, this may be our one and only chance to take him on.’

Loki, suitably fortified by the whisky, sprang from his seat. ‘Let’s do it!’

NOBODY NOTICED OR
cared when the three of us slipped quietly through the door at the rear of the club. Entering a corridor lit by a single naked bulb, we saw a steep set of steps ahead of us and to our right another door.

‘Looks like those stairs lead to an exit into the alley,’ Freya observed, peering up.

We focused our attention on the door. I took the gun from my pocket and held a finger to my lips. ‘I’ll cover you.’

Loki nodded and grabbed hold of the door handle. I stepped to one side. ‘Go on!’

Pushing open the door, Loki reached for the light switch. ‘Hell! We’re too late.’

I followed him into what seemed to be a storeroom. There were shelves and racks for bottles but most were empty and just gathering dust. There was a small table and four chairs in the centre of the room. Three empty glasses and an ashtray full of dog-ends were the only signs that someone had been there.

Loki turned, pushed past me and hammered up the steps.

‘At least we tried, Finn,’ said Freya disconsolately.

Strawberries!
I could smell strawberries. And
something
in the ashtray caught my eye too. One of the cigarette butts looked different from the others. I grabbed it.

Loki returned. ‘Just as you thought, Freya – the stairs lead to an exit. They’ve given us the slip.’

‘What are you doing?’ asked Freya, peering over my shoulder.

‘Véronique was here,’ I declared, holding up the remainder of the cigarette.

‘What?’ Loki inspected the evidence in my hand. ‘How do you figure that out?’

‘She smokes these blue cigarettes. And she wears perfume that smells of strawberries. Can’t you smell it? She was here. I just know it.’

‘Well, she isn’t here now,’ Freya huffed. ‘Come on, you two, we’d better go and rendezvous with Nils and the others.’

I was confused. What was Véronique doing here? Had the waiter dragged her kicking and screaming back to Renard, who’d act as judge, jury and executioner? ‘Wait,’ I said. ‘We can’t just abandon Véronique. The way I see it, she needs our help.’

‘And just how do you think we can help her?’ said Loki.

‘I don’t know.’ I racked my brain for inspiration. ‘Maybe they’ve taken her back to Renard’s apartment.’

‘And maybe they haven’t,’ Loki replied. ‘If Renard knows people are on to him, he’d not make such a stupid mistake.’

‘And there’s not enough time, anyway,’ said Freya,
examining
her watch. ‘Finn, you said we’ve got to meet Nils and the brigadier at the Pavilion at eight. Best not be late. Come on.’

To get to our rendezvous point we had to pass the entrance to The Melksham hotel. There was quite a commotion. Two police cars were parked at the kerbside in front of the revolving doors, and a constable stood barring the way in. Fearing it might have something to do with my earlier visit, and not wishing to be recognized by the man on reception, I crossed the street and did my best to shield myself from view, hiding behind Loki.

Nils was waiting for us outside the plush carpeted entrance to the Pavilion. He saw us and waved frantically. ‘He doesn’t look too happy,’ Freya remarked.

‘Thank God you’re all OK,’ he said, looking relieved.

‘What’s going on?’ Loki asked.

‘This place is crawling with SIS. Walker’s inside too. He brought Smithy and Killer Keenan along just in case. No sign of Renard yet, though. They intend to arrest him as soon as he sets foot through the door. But after what you told me, Finn – that Véronique’s cover’s been blown – I doubt he’ll show up. By my reckoning he’s long gone. Look out! Best behaviour now, I think the brigadier’s on the warpath.’

Brigadier Devlin strode purposefully towards us from the direction of The Melksham; another man in civvies walked alongside him. Both were fuming. ‘Ruddy disaster!’ the brigadier bellowed. ‘A body’s been discovered in the hotel! Stuffed into a dumbwaiter.’

I gulped. ‘It’s … it’s … it’s … not Véronique, is it?’ I asked, bracing myself.

‘No,’ snapped the man accompanying the brigadier.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

‘What’s a dumbwaiter?’ Freya asked.

‘It’s a small lift used for carrying food or rubbish between floors, miss,’ the brigadier informed her. ‘This here is Colonel Shelby,’ he added, gesturing to the man beside him. ‘He’s with the SIS. He’s just identified the body as being that of the waiter from the Cadenza.’

‘
The waiter!
I don’t understand,’ I said.

‘Neither do I,’ hissed the brigadier.

I explained what had happened after I’d telephoned Nils. ‘I assumed the waiter had managed to free himself and then overpower Véronique. I figured he’d dragged her off to the Flamingo Club. Guess I was wrong.’

The brigadier glared at me.

‘And, so,’ I continued, figuring it out as I spoke, ‘presumably Véronique got the better of him, after all. Killed him and then disposed of the body in that dumbwaiter thing. So there’s one less of Renard’s men to worry about.’

The brigadier’s face grew plum-coloured with rage.

‘… That’s good, isn’t it?’

From the brigadier’s expression I knew that I was mistaken.

Colonel Shelby spoke up. ‘The waiter was one of
our
men!’

BACK AT MULBERRY
all hell broke loose. Everyone was ordered to assemble in the lounge. Colonel Shelby had returned with the brigadier, and from the look on Walker’s face, I reckoned the very existence of Special Operations hung in the balance. It had been a calamitous day and I think Shelby wanted to shout from the rooftops that Special Ops was to blame for the loss of one of his men. As we took our seats you could cut the atmosphere with one of Mrs Saunders’ extremely sharp kitchen knives.

‘Unfortunately,’ the brigadier began, scowling indignantly at Colonel Shelby, ‘it seems that our left hand doesn’t know what our right hand is doing these days. For Christ’s sake, we’re all supposed to be on the same side! Why wasn’t your undercover agent informed of our activities?’

‘Why weren’t yours informed of ours?’ Shelby hissed back with equal venom.

Had Shelby and the brigadier been twenty years younger, I imagined this particular conversation would have ended up with punches being thrown. As it was, they composed themselves. Nils asked the perfect question: ‘Can someone explain what the hell’s going on?’

Shelby sighed. ‘Very well. The waiter at the Cadenza had the job of covering Véronique’s back. We inserted him into the field just a week ago. You see, in Véronique’s last report she hinted that Renard was growing suspicious of her. Anyway, we can only assume our chap saw you lot watching Renard’s apartment. Maybe he thought you were part of his unsavoury crowd. If he reckoned there was trouble brewing, his orders were to tail Véronique to make sure she was OK.’

I held up a hand.

‘Yes, Mr Gunnersen?’

‘Did Véronique know the waiter was with the SIS? She told me she didn’t recognize him.’

Shelby shook his head. ‘No, they’d not met. Of course, like you lot, in an emergency our agents can identify themselves to each other with coded phrases or signals. However, from your version of events, Mr Gunnersen, it sounds like our man didn’t get the chance to introduce himself!’

That put me in my place. I tried to explain that I’d suspected Renard had signalled to the waiter in the town square. It was that, and the fact that the waiter immediately set off after Véronique, that had raised my suspicions. My little speech was met with blank faces. I was wrong, apparently. The waiter was not working for Renard. But what about Véronique? She’d gone running to Renard. Surely that made her a double agent. I was about to point out her treachery when I saw the fury in Shelby’s eyes. This wasn’t the right moment,
I
decided. I suspected that Shelby had already come to the same conclusion as me – that one way or another he’d lost
two
agents in a single night.

‘The upshot of this
mess
,’ Shelby continued, ‘is that we have to assume Renard will attempt to make his escape soon. Of course, we’ll try to stop him. We will double security at all ports and airfields, place extra men at railway stations across southern England and order every policeman and member of the Home Guard to look out for him. Unfortunately it’s well nigh impossible to cover every river and rocky cove, every nook and cranny of Britain’s coastline. We have to face the fact that in all likelihood the blueprints will find their way to Berlin.’

Sitting at the back of the room, Amélie took a sharp intake of breath and muttered, ‘
Désastreux!
’

‘Quite, miss!’ the brigadier replied.

‘What exactly are the blueprints for?’ asked Max.

I reckoned Loki, Freya and I already knew the answer – an abominable weapon, a hideous death ray. Eager to hear all about it, I leaned forward in my chair. The brigadier’s reply, however, took me by surprise.

‘Our chaps over at Worth Matravers design radar systems. They’ve been working on a device that’s small enough to be fitted into our aircraft.’

‘You mean so our pilots can see the enemy in the dark?’ interrupted Loki. I too recalled what Nils had explained to us during our journey down from Glasgow.

‘Exactly, Mr Larson. And we’re pretty close to an
operational
version. There is a vital component in it called a magnetron.
That’s
what the blueprints contain.’

The confused and puzzled look on Loki’s face exactly matched how I felt. ‘So it’s not some sort of death ray then?’ I said hesitantly.

Walker and the brigadier exchanged sharp glances. Both appeared to be at a loss as to what to say next. I sensed their awkwardness had something to do with Shelby’s presence in the room. Why was that? I wondered. Then I remembered the animosity and competitiveness between Special Ops and the SIS. Was that it? Was the matter too sensitive for Shelby’s ears? ‘
Death ray?
’ Walker said finally, trying to sound light-hearted. ‘What on earth are you on about, Mr Gunnersen?’

Shelby, for his part, had heard enough. Muttering that he had spies to catch, blueprints to retrieve and a war to win, he headed for the door and the chauffeur-driven car parked on the gravel outside.

The moment he’d left, Jacques stood up and slapped the palm of his left hand against his forehead. ‘
Bien entendu!
It is my fault, sir,’ he said, turning to the brigadier. ‘Finn saw me writing
rayon de la mort
during lessons.’

‘Yes, that’s right, I did.
Rayon de la mort
– death ray. We also know your father works for the Moutons’ electronics company, Jacques – or at least he did until the Nazis invaded France and shipped him off to Berlin to work on something important. And we were told that those blueprints were vital. We assumed they
were
linked, all part of the same thing – plans for a devastating weapon.’

Jacques shook his head at me. ‘
Imbécile!
’ he snorted. ‘What is it the English say? Ah, yes,
A little knowledge is a very dangerous thing
.’

The brigadier puffed out his cheeks and nodded. ‘Explanations are in order, I think. Perhaps you’d like to begin, Mr Lefebvre. Tell your colleagues about your role in all this.’

Max was scratching his head. Interrupting proceedings, he asked, ‘What about this talk of a death ray?’

Walker held up a hand. ‘All in good time, Max. We’ll get to that.’

Jacques fired up a cigarette and took centre stage. ‘You are right, Finn, about Amélie and I knowing Félix Mouton, and about our father working for the Moutons. Their electronics company makes many things, including radios and …
radar systems
! After France was invaded the Nazis seized everything. Being rich, the Moutons had a lot to lose. Félix’s father faced a difficult choice. He could either give up his electronics company and fortune, or co-operate with the Nazis in the hope they’d let him keep them. He decided to cooperate. Our father continued working for him. That way he hoped to avoid being shipped to Germany as forced labour. It was the lesser of two evils.’

‘But they took him to Berlin anyway!’ Amélie interrupted.

Jacques exhaled forcefully. ‘Yes, as soon as they realized he was a brilliant engineer.’

Max snorted with derision. ‘So they’re all
collaborators
!’

‘No!’ Jacques shouted. ‘Not Father. He is a true Frenchman. In Berlin, the authorities allowed him to write home once a week. We agreed a sort of code before he left. Hidden in his letters he sent us information about what he was working on. Little bits at first. Then more detail. Eventually I could see what the Nazis were developing with his reluctant help. Through his letters he began pleading with me to give the information to the Resistance, or better still deliver it to the British authorities personally.’