Spook's Gold (16 page)

Lemele suddenly became aware of Marner standing silently behind them, apparently entranced by something beyond the windows. “What was your call about?  Loutrel?” she asked, looking up at him.

Marner opened his mouth to speak but no noise came out. His hands moved in the air in front of him, as if trying to pluck words from the air to feed his non-functioning mouth.

“Dieter! What on earth is wrong?” snapped Boris, suffering somewhat from an aching head.

Marner’s mouth slowly spluttered into life, “I.... he....” Rage suddenly enveloped his face. “That, that,
fucker
Graf! He’s been playing me for a fool!” he bellowed, drawing looks and gasps of alarm from the others in the restaurant.

“Well. If the cap fits, Dieter,” laughed Boris, reassured that nothing serious was wrong. Lemele smiled and relaxed back into her chair. Marner continued to stand, still waving his arms about, trying to marshal his thoughts. Finally he slumped down into a chair, wincing at the beam of sunlight that was now shining directly into his face, amplifying the thumping in his head. He gulped down the coffee that Lemele poured for him and then explained that he had been on the telephone to Kriegsmarine headquarters in Paris and had made a startling discovery. He had requested to be put through to Graf, but been informed that Graf was out of town. Whoever it was that he had spoken to had given him the standard response about not being authorised to tell him where Graf had gone or on what business, also being unauthorised to provide the answer to Marner’s enquiry regarding their transportation contact in the Gestapo. So Marner had then spoken to Lesemann, insisting on the urgency of the matter and had been put through to Hoffman who, when he heard that Marner was now taking the Gestapo lead seriously, was only too happy to grease the wheels. So Marner had been redirected back to Graf’s office and the same minion, who was now far more forthcoming. And thus Marner learned something that amazed him: that Graf always went to Bordeaux whenever one of the spook boats docked, because these shipments were one of Graf’s primary responsibilities and projects.

Therefore Graf had lied; he was not responsible for general logistics, he was actually responsible for special activities such as these shipments. Yet the most interesting discovery was a throw away comment made at the end of the conversation: did Herr Marner not know that Captain Willi Graf had been the first officer aboard the U-180?  Graf had been posted to Paris to head the logistical organisation when the boats had been converted and cargo carrying became their major operational objective.

Boris whistled. “So he lied to you. Smells very fishy.”

“More than that,” added Lemele, since Marner was silent, still caught somewhere between his rage and the need to assimilate the news and the ramifications. “Graf is a common factor to all of the shipments, not forgetting that if Graf served on the U-180, he knows the crews and they are his friends. But most importantly, we can link him directly to Schull.”

This last sparked Marner into life. “Oh my god, you are right on the mark. Graf is possibly the only other person in France, with the exception of Hoffman, who knew why Schull was here. So if Graf is involved and became aware that whole game was blown....”

“So let me get this clear,” interposed Boris, the disbelief heavy in his voice. “You are proposing that Graf killed Schull to shut him up?  I’m not sure I can believe that. It’s a big step to take, from theft to murder and it will not end the investigation.  Graf must realise that it will only be a matter of weeks at most before Berlin sends out someone else to pick up where Schull left off. Not only a big step, but a big risk, since it would actually increase suspicion if their investigator was murdered.”

“Which would explain why Schull’s murder turned into such a complex charade,” suggested Lemele. “It only helped if it bought some time, and it bought more time if they could sew confusion and distraction by making it appear as random or politically motivated. Otherwise it risked to bring down a huge amount of heat and attention if Berlin thought that Schull was killed because he was onto something.”

“Well, whatever,” exclaimed Marner, jumping up decisively from his chair, “Graf is in Bordeaux and that is where I am going.”

Lemele coughed politely. “I think that what you meant to say is: That is where
we
are going.”

Marner hesitated; he looked meaningfully at Boris for help but Boris was either playing dumb or his sore and foggy brain really was numb. He sat back down. “I think that it would be better if you stay here with Boris.”

Lemele clattered her coffee cup down, anger rapidly rising along with the colour in her face. “What do you...”

Marner rode gently over her. “Please listen! I’m working on the assumption that Graf will be somewhere in the military docks, meeting one of the submarines. Or if he really is implicated in this, he may now have gotten completely rattled and have gone to ground in Bordeaux, perhaps with some help. Either way, it will be simpler, safer and quicker if I go alone.”

Lemele was already on her feet and moving to leave the table. “No way! I’ve been followed, beaten and shot,” Boris snickered at this, but she ignored him and continued, “and I am not letting this go now. I’m going upstairs to pack my bag and will be ready to go in ten minutes and you had better wait for me!” And with that she wheeled around and stamped out of the restaurant, nearly colliding with a startled, elderly waiter.

“And while we’re on the subject,” growled Boris, “What is it with this ‘stay here with Boris’ nonsense?  I’m coming too!”

Marner’s head sank in frustration at having not one, but two recalcitrant partners to deal with, in addition to the pain in his head. “Absolutely not. You
must
stay here and stick to the orders that Odewald gave us. If Loutrel actually turns up and neither of us is here, Odewald will personally fly us to the eastern front and eject us out of the plane with his own boot. Without parachutes.”

Boris laughed at this vision. “So what do I say if he contacts the hotel or the garrison here and wants to speak to you?”

“Tell him.... tell him that we received a tip that Loutrel had possibly moved on to Bordeaux and so we decided to split up and cover both possibilities.”

Boris agreed that this would be plausible and would at least buy Marner a couple of days of absence from Toulouse. He suggested that Marner take the StG44 with him, but only on the condition that he submit to a quick crash-course on how it worked. Marner considered this, conceding that if Graf were now on the run and hostile it could be useful. Boris was going to be sitting idle waiting for the local SD to round up Loutrel, so he was unlikely to have any need for it.

Chapter Nineteen

When Lemele finally descended the stairs fifteen minutes later, Marner was already waiting, irritated and impatient to be moving. He had telephoned to Hauger and explained that he had an urgent need to travel to Bordeaux on another case, requesting help with transport to get there. Hauger had been surprisingly helpful and had proposed a solution if Marner could be ready to go in ten minutes. Marner had willingly accepted and had grown increasingly agitated waiting for Lemele, having just telephoned to her room to hurry her out.

“Sorry about the delay,” she apologised. “I got distracted because I heard gun fire at the back of the hotel. Did you hear it too?”

“Probably just someone shooting at pigeons,” suggested Boris. “But I don’t think that they were in any danger of actually being hit, eh Dieter?” with another of his conspiratorial winks towards Lemele, who graced him with a smile, even though she had no clue what he was talking about.

Marner brusquely grabbed Lemele’s bag out of her hand and hurried off towards the door without a backward glance or goodbye to Boris. “What about my bill?” she called to his retreating back.

“It is already paid. Now would you
please
get a move on! We have a car waiting,” he snapped over his shoulder without stopping or turning.

Confused by this sudden urgency, Lemele shrugged and gave Boris another smile, a handshake goodbye and then hurried out in pursuit. Moments later, just as Boris was starting up the stairs, she came clacking back through the door in a hurry. “Forgot to leave my key!” she shouted to him, waving the offending article as if proof were needed as she skittered across the tiled lobby on her high heels.

“
Come on!”
came Marner’s roar through the doorway.

----

Once in the waiting car, she had barely settled into the back seat before it set off. As they were driven at breakneck speed by a young woman in Wehrmacht uniform, Marner shouted over the roar of the car engine and the wind whistling through the open windows that Hauger had secured them a place on a plane that was leaving for Bordeaux in fifteen minutes. He saw the colour drain out of her face and assumed that it was the sudden lurch that the driver had made to avoid a horse and cart in the road, setting the car up onto three wheels as it swerved left, missing the cart by centimetres and then crashing back down onto its fourth wheel as she righted the car again in a straight line.

“Flying?” squeaked Lemele, placing a hand to her throat in panic as her breakfast threatened to erupt and make a reappearance. “I can’t fly!”

“Why not?” he shouted over the noise of the protesting car tyres, having to hang onto the door handle to avoid being thrown across her as they rounded a turn, the driver sawing expertly at the steering wheel to correct the trajectory of the car as the tyres alternately slithered and gripped on the damp cobbles. He noted with relief that they were now out of town and onto what seemed to be a straight road heading towards the airport.

Lemele’s pallor had now turned from yellow to something paler, almost entirely without colour. “I...I just can’t.”

“Well then, you will either have to stay here or catch a train. But I am not wasting another full day at the mercy of the vagaries of the rail system. This....” He was suddenly thrown forward as the car braked hard for the rapidly approaching security barrier and guard hut at the entrance to the airfield. His knees cracked painfully on the metal frame of the front seat, although he managed to land his hands on the seat back to brace himself from being launched over it. Lemele was less prepared and slid fully off the seat and onto the floor. He grabbed her arm to help her back up, noting that her body seemed to be entirely limp. “This plane can get me to Bordeaux in two hours, so that is what I am taking. Come with me, or make other arrangements, it is your choice.”

The driver now seemed in no hurry and was chatting and joking with the guard, who was leaning close up to her window, even though she revved the engine all the while. Marner guessed that they were extremely well acquainted, judging by the intimate tones of their voices. The guard had barely glanced at the papers that Marner and Lemele had waved at him, instead preferring to keep his eyes locked into those of the driver. Marner was just about to protest the urgency of their business when the car rocketed forward again as the barrier began to rise slowly, causing Marner and Lemele to instinctively duck in alarm, fearing that the car would strike it. The driver did now keep to a brisk rather than lethal speed within the confines of the airbase, probably due to the high level of activity and pedestrian and mechanised traffic. They weaved a course between a maze of hangars and huts; through half-opened doors they could see aircraft being worked upon. There was no sign of bomb damage; Marner had heard that German airfields were being extensively targeted to render both the aircraft caught on the ground and the airfield non-operational. Perhaps this was too far south to be of interest.

They were driven directly onto the edge of the runway and delivered right up to their waiting plane, engines already running, and the propellers causing the air to vibrate and shimmer. Marner stepped out of the car, Lemele momentarily forgotten as he struggled to take in the incredible sight that his eyes beheld. On the one hand, it was just one of the ubiquitous Junkers 52/3’s, an old and slow design that was instantly recognisable by the three huge radial engines, one of them mounted on the nose, but in particular by its corrugated metal body panelling that had given rise to the nickname ‘Iron Annie’. Marner knew from personal experience that these beasts were slow and noisy. He also knew by reputation that their lack of armament, speed and manoeuvrability had resulted in a withering attrition rate in military use for what was actually a passenger service design dating from the early 1930’s. He recalled the words of the adjutant at Avenue Foch regarding the folly of taking to the air over France at the moment.

What made this particular example so bizarre was the metal hoop fixed underneath the plane, spanning fully in diameter from the nose to the tail fin. At first he wondered if it might be some temporary attachment that was used whilst it was stationary on the ground; on closer inspection he saw that it appeared to be securely mounted to the nose and tail of the plane, as well as where it passed under each wing tip. Other than that, it looked to be a relatively new example of the Iron Annie and he took some comfort from this.

Someone was waving at them from the door in the fuselage behind the wing and he remembered that they were late. He turned just as Lemele emerged from the car, still ghostly pale and shaky on her legs, seeming ready to collapse back into the car under the onslaught of the thundering roar and the waft of hot air and exhaust fumes. Smiling reassuringly, more than he actually felt, he stepped behind her to reach into the car for their bags, cutting off her retreat. Nudging her in the back with her bag to propel her reluctantly forward, they both high-stepped over the hoop and advanced up to the door. Marner pushed the bags up through the opening and they were accepted by a grinning crewman wearing the classic flying jacket, hat and goggles.

Lemele did not react when Marner motioned her to ascend the steps first; she looked at him, wild-eyed and mouthing inaudible words. He grew impatient and flapped his hand upwards, trying to convey the message that she should hurry up and get in. When she reached the top of the small ladder she hesitated again; he was debating whether it was more prudent to use his hands or shoulder to give her an encouraging shove in the behind, but the need was obviated when hands reached out from inside and hauled her aboard.