Voices on the Wind (14 page)

He and his companion were in civilian clothes. They were relaxed and friendly. Pierrot joined them, accepted coffee and a cigarette.

‘I've just come from Nice,' he said. ‘Your friends have made many arrests all of a sudden. What's behind it?'

The older of the two men scowled. ‘The new man,' he said. ‘Eilenburg, from Paris. Fancies himself another Heydrich, so we hear. But he's good, don't underestimate him. He has a reputation. I think your people are going to find it getting hot for them from now on.'

‘Hot for you too,' Pierrot remarked. ‘Stohler was easy; so long as he got money and women he didn't care too much. How do you feel about this development? It's going to make our arrangement more difficult.' He drew calmly on his cigarette, a professional among other professionals.

‘I don't see why,' his companion said. ‘We've worked together for some time without the Gestapo interfering. So long as you have our protection, they won't touch you. But about these arrests – well, if they've got anyone who knows something and they put pressure on them.…'

‘They won't interrogate unless they suspect a Resistance member,' Pierrot said. ‘And none of these people are connected. Labourers, artisans, shopkeepers and the proprietor of Le Chat d'Or, for God's sake! That place caters for your people, he's a well-known pro-German! It doesn't make sense.'

‘Terror makes sense,' was the answer. ‘And that's what Eilenburg understands. We in the Abwehr are gentlemen, on the whole – but they don't play by Intelligence rules. They set their own, and frightening the innocent is one of them. You have a special interest, haven't you?'

‘Perhaps.' Pierrot was cool, facing both men.

‘What have you got for us?' the senior asked him, cool and casual in his turn.

‘Nothing yet,' Pierrot answered. ‘But I soon will have. We've got a new wireless operator. Find out what's behind this business in Nice and I'll show you the transcripts as soon as I get them.'

‘Good enough,' came the reply. ‘I'll make enquiries. Will you be in your apartment tonight?'

‘Yes. I am always at home on the weekends whenever possible. I'll hear from you then?'

‘If we have anything to tell you, yes. Is there a name you're interested in?'

Pierrot hesitated for a second. ‘Cabrot,' he said. ‘I want to know if he's being questioned, that's all.'

He went slowly up the single flight of stairs and paused outside his own door. He unlocked it and went inside. The sound of a gramophone stopped him in the hallway. Popular dance music. Music that meant France before the war, when life was full of promise, and treachery unknown. He went into the sitting room and the music engulfed him.

The SS Hauptmann in charge of the prisoners made his report to Eilenburg that afternoon. Preliminary questions had been asked, but nobody had been interrogated. The information given tallied with the records kept by the municipality. The proprietor of Le Chat d'Or was demanding to see the Standartenführer. Eilenburg looked up briefly.

‘Take him downstairs,' he said. ‘Beat him and then bring him back. There won't be any more complaints after that.'

One of the men, the SS Hauptman continued, was chronically sick and coughing blood. Eilenburg didn't even glance at him; he went on making notes in the margin of the report.

‘He was examined by the SS doctor, who recommended we release him. There is a risk he might collapse and die, Herr Standartenführer. The doctor said he was in an advanced stage of consumption and this had been accelerated by shock.'

The papers were lowered and Christian Eilenburg put down his pen.

‘Shock? Has he been treated differently from the rest?'

‘No, Standartenführer. Just asked simple questions like the rest and kept in a cell with three other men. One of them called the guard when he started spewing up blood.'

Eilenburg pushed back his chair. The Hauptmann stiffened, getting ready to salute on dismissal. But Eilenburg didn't tell him to go. He got up and balanced on the edge of his desk; he had the pen in his hand and tapped it against his polished boot.

‘He must be very frightened,' he remarked. ‘More than the others. Now why? Why should one man have more to fear from us than any of the others? They've all been breaking the law in one way or another. Nice is rotten with corruption. Who is this man and what is his work?'

‘A street cleaner, named Louis Cabrot.' The Hauptmann consulted his list. ‘Aged twenty-seven, married, two children. Lives in the rue Livry. His papers are all in order. Exemption from the army because of his health. No criminal record. Family French peasants, living up near Antibes.'

Eilenburg said quietly, ‘I'll see him. Put him in an interrogation room.'

Jean Dulac was awake when Kate came in. He watched her put down a tray with some soup, tidy the cover of his bed.

‘Where's Janot?'

‘He took the doctor home,' she answered.

‘That was hours ago. He never stays in town. Why isn't he back?'

She turned away to open the window wider. She didn't want to look at him when she lied.

‘I don't know. Do you want me to call Ma Mère?'

‘No. Come here, Cecilie. Tell me what's wrong.'

‘Nothing. You're feverish; I'm not surprised, it's so hot in here.'

‘I knew by the doctor,' he said. ‘He was nervous, agitated. Answer me, or I'll get up and go downstairs to find Ma Mère. She won't lie to me. That's why she hasn't been up here, isn't it? She thought you might get away with it?'

Kate came to the bedside. ‘Yes, there is trouble,' she said flatly. ‘The doctor said thirty people had been arrested in raids all over Nice yesterday. Janot went to find out whether one of our people was among them.'

He pulled himself up on the pillows. ‘Who was it?'

‘Louis Cabrot. Something the doctor said about a patient of his with TB. Cabrot has it and he's a patient. We've been waiting for Janot, but Ma Mère says there's no need to worry if he's a long time. He's got to see people and try to find out.'

‘Why the arrests?' Dulac demanded. He moved his head to one side and coughed savagely. ‘Thirty! That's hostages. Why?'

‘The doctor didn't know,' Kate said. ‘He was frightened to death by the whole business. Ma Mère doesn't trust him.'

‘Ma Mère's right,' he answered. ‘If they question Cabrot, they'll find out about Marie and the pick-up. He doesn't know Pierrot, or me. He's only a little man in the network, who knows the beaches and where it's safe to land. But Marie knows more, if he leads them to her. And once the Gestapo hear that agents have been landed, they'll start tearing the town to pieces to find them. I must get up!'

‘No!' Kate caught hold of him as he moved to throw the bedclothes back. ‘Don't be stupid – what can you do? You wouldn't last five minutes if you tried to go down there in this state. You want them to catch you and destroy us all?'

To her surprise he didn't resist. He was gasping for breath. He swore angrily at his own weakness. She took her hands away.

‘If anyone goes down,' she said, ‘it'll be me. I've got a bicycle. If Janot isn't back in the next hour, I'm going to Nice to contact Julie and Pandora. They've got to join us up here before the Gestapo finds them. Will you promise me to be sensible? Stay where you are and get this damned infection under control. The doctor said a couple of days would make all the difference.'

He waited for a moment, trying not to cough.

‘Give him two hours,' he said at last, ‘then go down. Tell Ma Mère I want to see her. And be careful. You know what to say if you're stopped, and your papers are foolproof. Just keep your nerve.'

‘Don't worry,' Kate said quietly. ‘I've practised that story till I could say it in my sleep. And I'm not frightened. They won't catch me out.'

He smiled a little. ‘I think London has sent me someone very special.'

They didn't need to wait for two hours. By later afternoon the van rattled up the road and both women ran out to meet it. One look at her son's face told Ma Mère that it was the worst possible news. He climbed down and they went into the kitchen together. He slumped in a chair.

‘It's Cabrot,' he said. ‘His wife was waiting at the Villa. Beatrice was with her. They said he'd been taken in for special questioning by the new chief himself. The poor girl was crying and begging, telling them he was consumptive. One of them said, “We know. He's coughing blood all over the floor at this moment!” Beatrice took her away. She's staying at the shop with the children. I came home as soon as they told me. What are we to do?'

‘I've got my orders,' Kate said. ‘I'm to go down and contact two friends. If this poor devil gives way, they'll be in danger. Ma Mère, I've got to bring them here. I'm sorry, but there's nowhere else.'

‘We've plenty of room.' The old woman didn't hesitate. ‘Why do you have to go alone? Janot makes the evening run as usual. He can pick them up.'

‘I'll bring them to the shop.' Kate dismissed the objection. ‘They don't know Janot, they mightn't trust him.'

‘There's a curfew from eight o'clock,' Janot said slowly.

‘If the SS are on duty they'll search everything. Normally the army knows us and doesn't bother. How long will it take you to find them, Cecilie? And how will you get them to the shop in time?'

‘I'll get them there,' she said. ‘It's four o'clock now. It'll take me an hour to get into Nice, but it's downhill all the way, thank God. Can you make your evening delivery by seven? That gives us time to get out before the curfew.'

‘I can do that,' he nodded. ‘But if you're not there I can't wait. You'll understand?'

‘I'll be there,' she promised. ‘If I'm not, don't take any risks. Get out, and we'll wait till your evening trip next day.'

‘Be careful,' the old woman said. ‘For the sake of us all. You know so much, my child.'

Kate didn't listen. She ran up to her room, collected her identity papers, a little money and the lipstick she'd brought out with her from England. The top of the crimson stick concealed a suicide pill. Ma Mère needn't worry about her giving the Gestapo any information if she was arrested.

There had been a certain amount of cooperation between German military Intelligence and the Gestapo in the Midi. Stohler took a tolerant view of his Abwehr rivals, and exchanged information with the accredited agents living at Beaulieu. They even dined together and were on easy social terms. When Pierrot's contact telephoned the Villa Trianon and asked if they were detaining a Louis Cabrot, the SS officer on the desk obliged as usual.

‘Yes, he was one of those arrested yesterday. He is being interrogated by the Standartenführer.'

Pierrot's contact put the phone down. It was a meagre favour in exchange for seeing the transcript of messages passed between London and the Resistance. But the real bargaining counter was one flight of steps above. Pierrot would continue to sell his soul to the devil and his countrymen to the Germans. The money was just enough. Pierrot got the answer that evening. Louis Cabrot was suspected and being questioned. When would they have the transcripts?

He sounded worried. Not for some time, he said. The group would disperse and lie low on the assumption that Cabrot had been forced to give information. He would be in touch with them but not for a while. He rang off. One German said to the other, using Eilenburg's imagery without knowing it.

‘The rats'll be on the run by now. I think we should pay a courtesy call on the new Standartenführer. Keep the relationship sweet.'

His companion agreed. They had shared the same flat in Beaulieu for the past year. Neither was homosexual: the elder was a married man with three young children. Both had been policemen in civilian life, one in Divisional Headquarters in Berlin, the other a talented provincial from the force at Stettin. They were keen, experienced investigators, who brought their skill in catching criminals to catching spies and collating information. Their hands were not bloody; they despised and disliked the savagery of the SS and the Gestapo, but they had to live with both. Recruiting the Frenchman known as Pierrot was one of their major Intelligence coups since they came to work in Occupied France. They left the apartment and went into Beaulieu to have dinner. Both men had acquired French girlfriends and the four of them had a very jolly evening.

Christian Eilenburg went upstairs to his office. He used the private lavatory reserved for his predecessor, washed his hands and brushed the white dust of the basement cell off his uniform. He shut his office door, opened the window wide and lit a cigarette. He had ordered Cabrot to be released. He had questioned the man for twenty minutes and knew from experience that he would not survive even limited torture. It was doubtful if he would recover from the collapse and haemorrhage from the lungs. Eilenburg didn't believe in brutality for its own sake. He took no sadistic pleasure in watching or inflicting pain. To him it was an instrument to be used for a necessary end. It was pointless to assault a man in Cabrot's condition. There was a better way of getting information. He relaxed for a few minutes, thinking. They had gathered a lot of data from the frightened prisoners. On the first examination it appeared useless and unconnected with anything subversive. But analysis might prove otherwise. And reports of public reaction were very satisfactory. The complacent citizens of Nice were in a fine state of alarm. An earlier curfew, taking effect after forty-eight hours and enforced by his own SS troops, would hem the people in their homes and close the cafés and shops. The French hated losing money. Quite soon there would be a deputation at the Villa Trianon. He would wait for the leaders of business and the professions to come and soften him as they had done Stohler. He spoke into the internal telephone.