Death Ray (24 page)

‘Jacques says
non
,’ Amélie replied, ‘but I am not so sure. Why, what’s the matter, Finn?’

I glanced to Loki and saw him peering at me expectantly. I explained what Nils had confided in me, and that we’d heard a Luftwaffe pilot refer to a ‘Freya discovery’ during our flight. Everybody frowned. Nobody could make sense of it.

‘By the way, I informed London that you’d made contact with the Resistance and were safe,’ said Freya. ‘They were extremely relieved.’ She brewed some fresh coffee on a small stove, handing me a piping-hot mug. It was real coffee, not the horrid chicory substitute used back in Britain.

Max, or should I say ‘Luc’, was keen to fill us in on the latest plans for Operation Death Ray. Removing some loose bricks from the cellar’s wall, he seized a hidden map and spread it out on the upturned tea chest. It was extremely detailed, and many notes, lines, circles and arrows had been added to it by hand. ‘As you weren’t at the final briefings at Mulberry House, I suppose you don’t know all the details about Operation Death Ray. I’ll fill you in.’

Loki and I crowded round.

‘Although the cliffs are tall, there is a gully,’ he began, pointing out exactly where the break in the cliffs was located. ‘The original plan was for our engineers to arrive by boat, move up the gully, unbolt the radar equipment and then carry it back down the same way. Thankfully, the narrow beach at the base of the cliffs hasn’t been mined because it almost disappears at high tide. Unfortunately the plans have changed.’

‘
Changed?
’ I asked.

‘Yes, Finn. We’ve just heard from London. Now their latest crackpot scheme is to send in paratroopers. They’ll land on the south side of the château and fight their way north to the cliff edge and the radar site, dismantle the equipment, then carry it down to the beach to waiting boats.’

Loki looked up. ‘Why the change?’

‘Simple,’ Max replied. ‘A few machine guns on the top of the cliff could stop even a decent-sized force climbing up the gully. They might even prevent the boats from reaching the shore in the first place. Best if they’re taken out by a ground force. Then the boats can approach safely for the pick-up.’

It made sense. ‘So that’s the radar site, is it?’ I asked, pointing to a cluster of shapes marked in pencil very close to the edge of the cliffs.

‘Yes. And close by are the laboratories the Moutons built before the war. The château is several hundred yards away. It’s approached from the road between Rochefort and Le Havre via a mile-long private drive. There’s dense woodland on both sides. The SS and Gestapo are using the château as their HQ.
Typisch!
They always commandeer the best places.’ His finger danced about the map, pointing to another feature. ‘See those? They are the barracks.’

‘How many men?’ I asked.

‘Close to two hundred, Finn. And then there’s probably another forty or so responsible for operating the radar equipment.’

I balked and nearly choked on my drink. ‘
Two hundred?
That’s a small army.’

‘Exactly! That’s why the diversion we’re responsible for setting up is so important,’ Max continued. ‘We must get as many soldiers away from there as possible.
And
keep them busy while the paratroopers drop in. If we fail, it will be a slaughter.’

‘Has Jacques decided on what sort of diversion?’

‘
Oui!
’ Amélie answered. ‘Erm, how you say, sabotage
un train des équipages
.’

I was a little unsure exactly what she meant but understood the words ‘sabotage’ and ‘train’!

‘There’s a regular supply train once a week,’ said Max, pointing to the snaking railway line. ‘About six miles from Rochefort in the direction of Le Havre, the railway passes close to a fuel depot. That’s where we’ll strike for maximum effect. London’s approved the plan. Fritz will need every man he can get to sort out the mayhem we’ve got in store for him.’

As I blew the steam from the top of my mug, it dawned on me that Operation Death Ray was one hell of a challenge. There was an awful lot that could go wrong. Timing seemed critical. Then I recalled that Amélie had said Jacques wanted the whole thing delayed. I was beginning to understand why. ‘This is all assuming the raid goes ahead,’ I commented. Max looked up at me and frowned.

‘I told them Jacques wants the raid
retardé
,’ Amélie confessed.

Loki was peering at the map over my shoulder. ‘It’s a
tough
task. I mean, for our engineers to get in and out within an hour or two of parachuting in. Rather them than me.’

‘How are the preparations for our diversion going?’ I asked, despite guessing that with all the recent arrests it was an uphill struggle.

‘We have everything planned,’ said Max, inhaling sharply. ‘Naturally, the fuel depot is heavily guarded. The only way we’ll get in is dressed as soldiers.’ He reached for one of the bags brought from Mulberry House. From it he took one of the German uniforms I’d seen delivered to the house the night we arrived. ‘We’re going to split into two groups. I will lead the team entering the depot. Our task is to set charges beside the fuel tanks. Jacques will deal with sabotaging the railway line. The idea is to blow the tracks as the train reaches the depot, derailing it. If we get our timing right, everything will happen at once. It’ll be chaos.’

Freya added, ‘Our biggest problem is convincing enough volunteers to take part. The communists will only join us if we promise to organize a series of supply drops for them by the RAF. Their list of demands is as long as my arm. Jacques is trying to negotiate.’

Loki laughed. ‘He could promise them the world! Just to get them on board.’

Amélie cursed. ‘Yes, but if we don’t keep our promises, they’ll be trouble. Fighting the Nazis is hard enough. We don’t want the communists against us too.’

‘What about your Resistance group? How many are left?’ I asked.

Amélie looked away and shuddered. Freya replied, ‘Barely a dozen, Finn. And most of them aren’t too keen to act until things quieten down.’

‘So it may be down to us then,’ I said grimly.

Freya searched through a bag and handed me some printed leaflets. They were in French, so I struggled to make them out totally, but they looked like advertisements asking for volunteers to work at the local hospital. ‘Jacques has asked us to deliver these tomorrow,’ she said. Seeing my confused look, she grinned. ‘They
appear
innocent enough, so if Fritz gets hold of one he won’t be suspicious. But they’re much more than they seem, Finn. There’s a hidden message. You need to read every fifth word, working backwards from the end of the leaflet. It’s a call to arms. We’re targeting a few families who have helped Jacques out in the past. He believes that with a little persuading, they might …’

I handed them back. ‘Bit of a long shot, if you ask me.’

‘Perhaps, but we have to try. I’m distributing them tomorrow morning,’ said Amélie. ‘I wouldn’t mind some help.’ She looked at me expectantly. ‘I have some shopping to do as well.’

I shrugged. ‘Happy to help. Better than sitting around in this place all day.’

‘And I have to contact London at midday,’ Freya said. ‘I’m going to use another safe house close to Rochefort’s station to transmit from. Jacques is meeting
me
there. Loki, you and Luc can come with me. Keep a lookout from the end of the street. I’d feel safer.’

With tomorrow planned, we relaxed and set about eating our meagre rations of watery stew that tasted as if it had been reheated one time too many, accompanied by stale bread. ‘You know, I was shocked to see Renard and Véronique the other day, here in Rochefort,’ I said, idly thinking aloud.

No one looked surprised. ‘Why?’ said Amélie. ‘After all, Renard, or rather Félix Mouton, has lived here most of his life.’

It dawned on me that they already knew he’d returned. ‘True, but there was only a week between us following him around the streets of Bournemouth and spotting him back here in Rochefort. That’s pretty impressive.’

Max stuffed an oversized wedge of bread into his mouth and tried to speak. ‘Maybe he didn’t go to Berlin.’ He saw my puzzled look, chewed hurriedly and swallowed hard before offering his reasoning. ‘Perhaps he came straight back to Rochefort. My theory is that he’s brought the blueprints here, to the château, or rather to the laboratories there.’

That would make sense, I realized. ‘Have you told London, Freya? That Renard and Véronique have been seen in Rochefort.’

‘No need, according to Jacques. He said that everything was being taken care of.’

‘What does that mean?’ asked Loki, pulling a face.

Freya glanced to the ceiling as if to say,
God knows
.
Amélie
shrugged. I felt uneasy. Just what did Jacques have planned? How come he knew Renard was back in Rochefort? All through our training at Mulberry House, Jacques seemed to know a lot of things, important things, that none of the rest of us did. And I’d had enough of being given just part of the picture. I made a mental note to challenge Jacques about exactly what he knew as soon as he showed his face. These were dangerous times and I didn’t want any nasty surprises.

THE NEXT MORNING
we all set off on our various tasks. I prayed we didn’t get stopped without identity papers. If we did, it would be down to Amélie to do the talking. She instructed me to act dumb, stupid, or as she said, ‘
Un imbécile
.’ She reckoned the Germans would soon grow tired of trying to question an idiot! I was happy to play along.

Elaborating on his plan to get into the fuel depot, Max thought it best that we complemented our German uniforms by making ourselves look a little older. Top of Amélie’s shopping list was some talcum powder to grey our hair and a bottle of collodion to age our skin.

But first there were the leaflets to deliver. This took us across town and mercifully proved uneventful, until Amélie led me towards a smart street called the rue St Patrick. She stopped at the corner and grabbed my arm. ‘Listen, Finn. Keep your eyes open. They may be watching number twelve.’

She hurried on past one large imposing stone house after another. I noticed her snatching brief glances at the tall ornate windows. ‘
Who
might be watching?’ I asked repeatedly. She said nothing. My anxiety ratcheted up a notch when she stopped
outside
number twelve and peered at it over the top of a hedge.

‘I think it is safe, Finn. Follow me.’

Hurrying up the path, she knocked briskly on the door while I scanned the road for suspicious-looking characters, and neighbouring houses for twitching curtains. There was no reply, despite her striking the door with her fist so hard I could hear the noise echoing through the inside hall.

‘Just slip the leaflet under the door,’ I suggested. ‘Or wedge it somewhere in the frame.’

Ignoring me, she set about hunting beneath some flower pots.

‘What are you doing?’

She stood up, clutching a key. It suddenly dawned on me. This was her house! I was scared – so much so I could hardly breathe. Jacques had said the house was being watched, that it was too dangerous to come here. ‘Are you mad?’ I whispered. ‘What if …?’

Unlocking the front door, she gave it a firm kick open and exclaimed, ‘
Voilà!
’

On her heels, I slammed the door behind me and leaned heavily against it. ‘You had no right coming here,’ I snapped. ‘It’s too dangerous.’

She spun round and our eyes locked together. ‘I had to, Finn. Don’t you understand? It might be the last …’ Her voice trailed off. ‘
Maman!
’ she called out over her shoulder.

‘There’s no one here,’ I said breathlessly, my heart pounding. ‘We should go.’

‘Maman!’ she shouted repeatedly as she moved from room to room. Hands on hips, and rather confused, she added, ‘
Je ne comprend pas pourquoi?
’

Then it hit me. Something was terribly wrong. The house had that dusty, stale, musty odour of somewhere that had been shut up for a long time. The kitchen pantry had little food in it, and what there was had gone rotten. It was obvious that no one had been living here for some considerable time.

‘But Jacques said that he’d been here and …’ The perplexed expression on her face turned to one of alarm. ‘What’s going on, Finn?’

I had no idea. I wondered why Jacques had claimed to have visited the house and spoken to his mother if, in fact, he hadn’t. The only explanation I could think of was that, like us, he had found it empty. Fearing something awful might have happened, maybe he decided to protect his sister by not telling her. Unsure how she might react, I chose not to share my thoughts with her either. ‘We’ll find out from your brother later,’ I said, trying to sound casual, reassuring, as if there was undoubtedly a perfectly sensible explanation. ‘Can we go now?
Please?
’

Heading for the centre of town, I tried to behave as if I’d lived in Rochefort all my life, born and bred here, stepping confidently along pavements as if I’d done so a million times already. It was easier said than done. Everything was so unfamiliar. My nerves were on edge, my stomach unsettled to the point where I felt
nauseous
. Amélie was still pondering what on earth could have happened to her mother.

Entering the vast square, I saw it was market day. Stalls had been set out in a huddle on the cobbles. Hurrying past them, it soon became apparent just how dreadfully scarce fresh food was. Nevertheless, the townsfolk of Rochefort had ventured out in numbers, no doubt keen to bask in the warmth of the spring sunshine. Cyclists weaved through the crowds ringing their bells and waving to neighbours and friends. Old men in threadbare jackets, worn leather boots and berets perched on walls or sat huddled together on benches. I guessed they were probably gossiping about the war, reminiscing about the good old days when France was a force to be reckoned with, and updating each other on the latest scandals unfolding behind closed doors.

Amélie walked briskly and with purpose. She did not want to get stopped, especially with me in tow, no matter how convincing an imbecile I was. What she didn’t realize, however, was that if I was searched, my lack of papers wasn’t the only potential problem. A German soldier might also wonder about the foot-long, slender metal tube hidden in the lining of my coat, accessible by a loop of string poking through a small hole in my inside pocket. It was a
welrod
. Good old Smithy had kindly thrown a few into the supplies along with all the Stens and explosives, and that morning I’d decided it was safer to carry than a revolver. The welrod contained a single bullet and came complete with silencer. As we hurried past the
hôtel de ville
with its
swastika
fluttering in the breeze, I began to wonder if I’d been wise to arm myself at all. Maybe I really was a bit of an
imbécile
. Maybe I didn’t need to pretend.