Law of Return (22 page)

He stood up, flicked on a light switch, and then carefully made his way down the hall to the bathroom. As he had expected, it was deserted. He locked himself inside and waited. If Elena Fernández and her lieutenant did not have the common decency to be asleep at such an ungodly hour, he was not going to lie awake and listen to them. And that was why Joseph Meyer, German citizen of Jewish extraction, was not in his hotel room at the fatal hour of four in the morning.

Chapter 18

A
ll in all, Tejada looked back on it as one of the more unpleasant moments of his life. But perhaps it was only the severe contrast. One minute he was sleepily nuzzling Elena’s shoulder, completely relaxed, and the next the door banged open, the light went on, and an excited voice shouted “
Raus! Raus!
”

He sat up, grabbing at the sheet. “What the
hell
?” he began, rapidly repeating the question in French and then in German as his brain started working. “What gives you the right to come barging in—”

“Never mind that.” Meyer was too excited to abandon his native language. “Get up! Get up, now! They’re coming.”

“
Qui arrive?
” Tejada demanded, aware of Elena’s fingernails digging into his arm, and determined to force the Jew to use a language that she would understand.

“The Gestapo.” Meyer got a grip on himself, and switched to French. “They are accompanying the gendarmes. They are searching the floor below, demanding papers. I heard them in the bathroom. The noise carries there because of the. . . .”

“Oh.” Without completely sharing Meyer’s panic, Tejada saw why he was upset. “Get out of here, and let Elena get dressed. And take off your jacket, and unbutton your collar.”

Meyer blinked. “But why?”

“
Jetzt
!” snapped Tejada, borrowing both the word and the tone from a drill sergeant he had met during the war.

The professor blinked and retreated. Tejada began to dress rapidly. Elena, he noted with approval, did the same thing. “It’s no use fleeing,” he explained quickly. “They’ll have men on the exits, unless they’re total incompetents, and trying to sneak away is asking for trouble. We need an excuse to leave. Your father’s been taken suddenly ill in the night. We need a taxi to his doctor in Biarritz. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Never mind all those damn buttons, just fasten your coat over it. Oh, and try to cry a little. Crying women tend to be distracting.”

Tejada headed for the next room and rapidly repeated his explanation to the professor while Elena fumbled with her shoes. “Your chest hurts, and you have shooting pains in your left arm,” he added. “You’ve had this before, understand? And you’re stone deaf and semiconscious. The feebler the better and
for God’s sake don’t talk!
”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Meyer nodded. “And thank you.”

“Thank me when we’re out of here,” Tejada said tersely. “Let’s go.”

The two Spaniards took up their places on either side of the professor, each supporting him under an elbow, and hurried him out of the room and down the corridor. “Elevator,” Tejada murmured urgently. “Can’t take a sick man down the stairs.” He leaned on the bell intently and repeatedly, and was rewarded a moment later by the creaking of slow gears. At least, Elena thought, Meyer looks plausibly sick. He was pale and sweating and she could feel his arm trembling.

The elevator seemed to take forever. Was it her imagination, or were there noises in the corridor below? At last, there was a light from the elevator shaft, and the cage came rattling into sight, just as Elena realized that the tramping of boots on the stairs beside the elevator was becoming more distinct.

“Hurry up, damnit!” Tejada’s French accent deteriorated under the stress. “My father-in-law is ill. He needs to be taken to a doctor immediately! Where have you been?”

As the door to the cage opened, Elena realized that a man in a dark trench coat was standing in the elevator beside the sleepy porter. “Come on, come on. Take us down as fast as you can,” Tejada continued, pulling Meyer (and incidentally Elena) into the elevator without seeming to see the other occupant.

“
C’est que vous êtes malade
?” The man in the trench coat’s accent was far less obvious than Meyer’s. He could almost have passed for French.

Elena could feel Meyer shaking. Now, she knew, would be an opportune time for tears, but she was stuck in dry-eyed, dry-mouthed terror. “My father has a weak heart,” she managed. “He had a sudden . . .” She looked over at Tejada, and switched to Spanish. “How do you say a sudden attack?”

Tejada turned back to the unknown occupant. “It’s not the first time this has happened. We even have the name of a doctor in Biarritz. But it’s upsetting for my wife.” He rolled his eyes. “This was
not
how I wanted to spend my leave.”

“You are a soldier?”

The elevator reached the ground floor. “A guardia civil,” Tejada flung over his shoulder as the porter opened the gate.

As Tejada had predicted, there were uniformed soldiers standing at the foot of each stairwell in the lobby. A man with a gun was stationed by the reception desk, next to two gendarmes. Tejada and Elena levered Meyer into an armchair, and Elena leaned over him, concerned, while the lieutenant headed for the desk. “Call a cab,” he ordered the night clerk, ignoring the man beside the desk. “My father-in-law is ill. We must get him to the doctor.”

“
Oui, Monsieur
.” The clerk looked relieved at such an ordinary request. He reached for the telephone.

“A moment,” the Gestapo officer interjected. The clerk froze.

Tejada glared. “I apologize, Officer, but this is an emergency.”

“Your papers?”

“Of course.” Tejada knew that this was the tricky part. Surprise, and a little reserve were important, because most honest people seemed to resent the demand a little. But not too much surprise or reluctance. It was important not to seem too eager either. Men tended to thrust forgeries rapidly under the noses of the Guardia, trusting that their eagerness to seem cooperative would prevent the guardias from reading their documents too closely. The lieutenant handed over his identity card readily, but fidgeted a little as the German looked at it. “I’m sorry to be difficult, but we really do need a cab.”

“Call a taxi,” the German ordered the clerk, and then turned his attention back to Tejada. “You are on leave?”

“Yes. This was
supposed
to be a vacation.” Tejada cast a worried glance over his shoulder at where Elena was still bending over Meyer. “But between the troubles we’ve had with the trains, and now Don José’s heart . . . I’ll be relieved to get back to work.” He shook his head and then looked at the men waiting at the stairwells and on guard in the elevator. “Although it seems work is following me.”

“There is a Communist cell here, we think,” the German admitted. “We picked up one of them this morning.”

“And this is the mopping up?” Tejada asked with interest. “It looks like a very efficient operation.”

“Thank you.”

Tejada felt the beginnings of nervousness. He would have been annoyed by a civilian who had attempted to engage him in any more conversation. The natural thing was to move away toward Elena and the professor. But he was afraid that any movement in their direction would result in a demand for their papers as well. He turned back toward the clerk. “How long until the taxi gets here?” he demanded, with real and urgent interest.

“A few more minutes at most, Monsieur. Do you require the name and address of a doctor as well?”

“No, thank you,” Tejada replied, grateful for the additional subject of conversation. “My wife received a referral from my father-in-law’s doctor before we left.”

The awkward silence descended again for what was one of the longest minutes of the lieutenant’s life. It was broken when the front door opened, and a bearded man entered. “Someone called for a cab?”

“Yes.” There was nothing feigned about the relief in Tejada’s voice. Elena had also started up, gesturing the man towards where Meyer lay slumped in the chair, and explaining, in a voluble mixture of Spanish and French the nature of his malady and the need for haste.

Tejada suppressed the urge to hurry toward his little “family” and rush them out the door. “Elena,” he called in Spanish. “Wait a minute.” Elena turned and Tejada hoped that her horrified look was read only as concern for her father. He turned back to the silent man by the desk who had been watching the charade with interest. “With your permission, Officer?”

The German nodded. “Fine. But it’s good you asked.”

“Professional courtesy,” Tejada replied wryly. “Good hunting.”

“Thank you.”

Tejada advanced on Elena, who had enlisted the taxi driver’s aid in supporting Meyer down the hotel steps. The professor was certainly playing his part well. “All right,” he said to her, taking the driver’s place. “Slow and steady, remember.”

Elena smiled at him briefly, and he knew that she had understood the message. “At least he hasn’t had too much excitement lately.” There was a quaver in her voice that could have been mistaken for tears, although Tejada suspected it was a suppression of a hysterical giggle.

“Real guts,” he murmured appreciatively, as they maneuvered Meyer down the stairs and into the cab.

Somewhat to Elena’s surprise, Tejada immediately gave the driver an address. Meyer, who knew Biarritz after several weeks’ stay, was startled to recognize their destination as only a few blocks away. They remained in suspense for only a few minutes. Tejada paid the driver, tipped him profusely, and assured him that they did not need his further assistance. Then he ushered Elena and the professor toward a random doorway, until the cab was out of sight. “All right,” he said, dropping Meyer’s arm. “Down that way, and make the first right.
Run
.” Meyer, who needed no encouragement, ran. Elena managed a stumbling trot, head bent against the rain. Tejada, aware that her shoes and not her spirit were at fault, resisted the urge to drag her by the arm.

Elena had never thought that she would ever greet the sight of one of the Guardia Civil’s vehicles with positive joy. But she laughed for sheer relief when she saw the canvas-roofed truck, parked where Tejada had left it. “Into the back, both of you,” he commanded, relief surging in his voice as well. “And get under the tarpaulin. We’ll probably meet roadblocks.”

Meyer helped Elena into the back of the truck, and then clambered in after her. “Bless you!” His voice was fervent. “If you can take us as far as the hiker’s trails—”

“Forget that,” Tejada interrupted, swinging himself into the driver’s seat and turning the key in the ignition. “I want to be over the border before someone bawls out those Germans for the incompetents they are. Now get under the damn tarp!”

Elena never forgot the ride to the border. The rain spattered heavily on the rough cloth above her for the first few minutes, but soon lightened so that she was no longer able to feel the impact of the drops. But it was difficult to keep her balance on the floor of the truck. Tejada was driving fast and the roads were not smooth. After a few bruising minutes, she managed to cling to one side of the vehicle, half lying down, knees curled to her chest. Meyer, who had been having similar difficulties, clung to the other side in a similar position. Tejada’s kit lay between them, wedging them in as well as giving them some protection against being shaken loose. Elena’s left leg and arm began to fall asleep, and she longed to stretch, or at least to be free of the bumping for a while, but each time the vehicle slowed to go around a curve her heart leapt into her mouth, afraid that they had hit a roadblock and were about to be stopped. Nearly blind in the darkness, and afraid to speak, she could only hope that the professor was surviving the trip.

The jolting ride seemed to go on forever, but in fact it was only just over forty minutes later that Elena felt the truck rattle to a stop. In the sudden silence, she heard the unmistakable voice of a Spaniard. “Lieutenant!”

“Good morning, Guardia.” Tejada’s voice was clear to the two people crouched in the back of the truck. “Here are my papers, if you need them.”

“Yes, sir.” There was a pause, which was agonizing to the lieutenant’s hidden passengers, as the border guard smothered a jaw-splitting yawn. “You’re back early, sir.”

“I know. I found the address I was looking for but it turned out to be a false lead. I wanted to get back as quickly as possible and find the bastard. He’s caused enough trouble.”

“Yes, sir.” The guardia yawned again. “At your orders.”

“Go get some coffee.” The lieutenant sounded amused. “You sound like you’ve had a tough night.”

“Oh, no, sir. The border’s been very quiet.”

“Good.
Arriba España
.”

“
Arriba España
, Lieutenant. Welcome home.”