Clandestine (8 page)

All this time, bicycles streamed past, their bells sounding one crisis after another, along with urgent shouts for him to get out of the way, but there wasn't the sharply intent flame of the usual lighter fuel of gasoline. Instead, it was of the long-remembered, but one thing was for sure: that accent wasn't French. He had seen this one before, but where, and did that then mean that extra troops had been brought in?

‘You're heading where?' asked the donor.

‘The Banque Nationale de Crédit et Commercial. It's address is on …'

‘We can read.'

‘Who told you to follow?'

‘All we know is that something big is coming to town and that you and that partner of yours have been brought in on it.'

‘Radio-trottoir?'

Pavement radio. ‘Our ears are constantly tuned. Aren't yours? Here, take the package. We've lots.'

Hermann would have advised leaving things as they were, but Hermann had Oona to think of and they had, of course, to first take care of her and not let these others know where.

‘Merci
, I'll continue to lead the way, shall I?'

‘Of course. An entourage.'

‘Excellent!'

Stepping quickly back and in among the oncoming cyclists, he did the unforgivable and shoved the first to come along against the car. Another and another gave cries of dismay, he driving the Opinel into both of that car's front tires, the altercation continuing with the opening of its doors as the headlamps were shattered by the butt of a Lebel 1873.

The front tires of the lead vehicle followed and then its headlamps.

‘Now I'll deal with the
vélo-taxi
you missed,' said Hermann, taking a first and welcoming drag and handing the cigarette to Oona to hold for him.

‘Later,
mon vieux.
Later. Let's give them a bit of distance, then you to the left, me to the right and we'll squeeze its driver between us and find out who they're working for.'

It didn't take long, and when Hermann finally found him waiting with the van in
place
Vendôme before the shop Enchantement, he took Oona from the Citroën to that door and, ringing its bell, got the lecture of his life from Giselle, who quickly pulled her inside and slammed the door in his face.

Alone again, they shared a cigarette even though they still had the extras.

‘Rudy de Mérode,' said St-Cyr with evident dismay, for the so-called ‘Neuilly Gestapo' was but one of at least ten major gangs of
gestapistes français
operating in and from Paris, Lyon and other cities and towns. Back in the summer and autumn of 1940, the Occupier had needed purchasing agencies as well as Frenchmen and women to watch the French. Deliberately, the Abwehr, the counterintelligence service of the German High Command, had let far too many gangsters and others out of jail and put them to work they enjoyed immensely. Given the directorships of some of those purchasing agencies, for the Reich had needed, and still did even more so now, vast quantities of nearly everything France could supply, they had done that as well as a lot of other things and continued to but with even more determination. And the unfortunate thing was that far too many of them had been put in prison by himself.

‘Apparently, Hermann, word came through to those pavement listeners of a control on the RD 380 just to the east of Reims last Tuesday and Wednesday. A very determined SD colonel who wouldn't listen to anyone but himself. Every truck, car or wagon was ripped apart, no matter the lineup, even though it was at the start of the
vendage
and the grapes needed pressing. Every other entrance to Paris was also placed on the same alert.'

‘Which still continues, and since de Mérode and his gang have been sniffing the air, we can assume the others have.
Merde
, this isn't good, Louis.'

‘And they'll all want to hear the reason first from herself before turning over what's left of her to Kriminalrat Ludin who, with that colonel, must have been following her and that
gazo
and its crew since the Netherlands.'

‘Just what the hell is she carrying that's so goddamned important Kaltenbrunner would demand absolute silence? A girl who's only in her early twenties?'

‘We have to be missing something, Hermann, including the name of that last one I just met. I've heard and seen him before, but where?'

‘It'll come to you. It always does.'

‘The pseudo-robbery of a bank van whose driver and assistant willingly gave a lift to a complete stranger, no matter how vulnerable and tempting?'

‘Did she know of them, Louis? Did they of her?'

The question of questions, for if so, it implied a whole lot more. ‘And when both vehicles turned off the RD 380 to avoid that control, did she look back to gratefully see the distance between them steadily increase and think she had got safely away?'

Only to then discover something else. ‘Monnier won't open until 0900 hours.'

^*
The Royal Dutch Aviation Company used Douglas aircraft, one of which was ‘mistakenly' shot down by a Luftwaffe fighter over the Bay of Biscay in June 1943.

^*
In early August 1944, eight German soldiers were ambushed in Aubervilliers and shot, the first such major incident in what was to become known as the Battle for Paris.

^*
A pocket flashlight activated by pumping a thumb lever.

^*
The Dutch fascists, the Nationaal Socialistische Beweging.

3

French banks were nothing but trouble, felt Kohler. They opened when they wanted and closed soon afterward, this one at 1100 hours, with the customary two-hour lunch from 1230 to 1430. But they
all
even took the half-day holiday on Wednesday afternoons.

It was still dark. Fortunately a carriage entrance lay off the rue Volney, and having squeezed through it into the courtyard, van and Citroën were locked and left as they headed for the little blue wire-caged light above the tradesman's entrance.

‘Me or you, Louis?'

‘Both.'

All too soon a throaty voice rebelled.
‘Merde alors, messieurs,
even the roosters on the roof haven't had time to crow! It's also a Saturday and since when did banks ever open on such days?'

‘As of right now. Gestapo and Sûreté, my fine one. Just let us in,' shouted Hermann. ‘We've brought your president a little present.'

Something would have to be said to stall them until contact could be made, felt Olivier Gaudin, concierge and of some importance to the Crédit et Commercial. ‘Monsieur le Président Bolduc, he is away at the autumn pot-shoot with Hauptmann Reinecke and Leutnant Heiss, the overseers of the bank.
La Côte Sud des Landes.
Les palombes, n'est-ce pas, et les ortolans.'

‘The coastal dunes back of the beaches to the south of Bordeaux, Louis. Wood pigeons and songbirds.'

The autumn migration and within the forbidden zone that bordered the Atlantic Ocean. ‘Ortolans are caught in nets, Hermann. Monsieur le Concierge, we'll wait in his office for his second-­in-command.'

‘See that coffee is sent up,' said Kohler. ‘Hot croissants, fried Reim's ham, omelettes, too, and wedges of Brie de Meaux for starters. Just the usual that president of yours must serve up to those bank overseers you mentioned.'

Merde!
‘And where, please, am I to find such things, let alone pay for them?'

A tough one. ‘Here's a 5,000 franc note that's not from the van. Use it and bring me the change and a receipt. Don't and you'll have to deal with me since like yourself, I'm not an early riser. Add four shots of cognac to the coffee. We'll wait in your president's office as the chief inspector here has suggested.'

‘Not without his key. The boardroom will have to do.'

Under flashlight, the ghost of another and far better time appeared, felt St-Cyr, for the staircase to which they were led had been done by Hector Guimard of
métro
-entrance fame. Serpentine in seductively curved wrought iron, its banister led the way up as if to the gods. Equally of art nouveau and the belle epoque, enamel-and-bronze, sugar-cake elevator cages waited out of commission since the Occupation's all-out drive for tanks, trucks, aircraft engines and lots else had robbed them and most of such others of the needed electricity in June of 1940. But business had been so good and still was, taking the stairs would be no problem. There was even the taint of leftover cigar smoke, and among the bank's primary tenets to those with far less would be the admonishment of ‘one mustn't grumble.'

But now a light switch was thrown. Variegated jade-green marble panels and mirrored glass lined the boardroom while fair-breasted bronze lamps revealed that money had simply been no object when the bank had moved in. Fortunately the blackout drapes were still drawn. Not only did the table seemingly go on and on under electric light, the two dozen straight-backed art nouveau chairs funneled the vision to one of Klimt's larger masterpieces. Jewels of light were replete with haunting female thoughts not just of carnal lust but of vengeance if not careful. Yet another was on the wall behind them and each was worth an absolute fortune.

‘Bought at the Jeu de Paume, Louis?'

Where the confiscated art collections of the deported were placed on display to be auctioned off for the good of Vichy and others, especially the Reichsmarschall Göring and the Führer.

‘Our Chairman Bolduc has taste, Hermann.'

Left to themselves, a mistake of course, they soon had the connecting door unlocked and were able to enter that sanctuary of sanctuaries, for Hermann had found a spare key tucked under that end of the table in case Monsieur le Président should forget his own or someone else should need to get in. Classed as degenerate art by the Nazis, paintings by the Czech artists Alphonse Mucha and František Kupka were entirely evident, as were several by the Yugoslavian Leon Koen, with glassware pieces by the Daum brothers and René Lalique and Émile Gallé, and bits of sculpture by Rodin and others.

‘Exceptional investments, the Reich won't mind since they need the cash, but he also lacks taste,' said St-Cyr, for beneath some of the sketches, and even among Rodin's pieces atop a mahogany cabinet, were maquettes, but not the usual. These were not of plaster or papier-mâché but had been cast in bronze along with some of the statues they had led to, and at a time of war.

Big, muscular, virile examples of Germanic manhood were ranked side by side with the equally naked Valkyries of Arno Breker's Paris Exhibition of May 1942 in the Orangerie, much of its larger pieces done in plaster of course. But having lived and worked in Paris up to 1934, Breker had become known for the subtle and exquisite sensitivity of his sculptures, though all of that had changed and gone downhill when, just after signing the Armistice, Hitler had gotten the sculptor to give him a guided tour of the city he had just conquered. Breker had instantly become the Third Reich's chief sculptor and ever since then had given the Führer exactly what that one had wanted.

‘Bolduc is well connected,' said Kohler, ‘but if he has any sense, he had better be having these melted down or buried in the garden at home.'

Behind a spacious desk with Lalique dragonfly lampshade, was a wall map devoted to the pickups and deliveries of, in total, a fleet of eight vans. Virtually all of the Île de France and beyond was covered, the entrances assigned being not just those closest to their respective routes but definitely circled.

‘Our van didn't just make those stops suggested by Rocheleau, Louis. It went to Meaux first, then east to Chalons-sur-Mer for the wine and champagne, northeast to the Ardennes, and only then would have gone to Reims before hitting Laon, Soissons and stopping also in Villers-Cotterêts, then Senlis and finally Paris with unrecorded side trips wherever necessary. If every one of these vans is gathering goods for sale on the
marché noir
, our Bolduc is deep into it and has all the gasoline allotment needed.'

Thanks to his overseers. ‘And is one of the BOFs, eh?'

The
beurre, oeufs et fromage
boys. The big dealers. ‘We'll have to ask him.'

Tidy files lay on the desk to the left of its chair. ‘Vineyards and châteaux to the north of Bordeaux, in the Haut-Médoc, Louis, but promising resort areas to the south, along the beaches of the Côte d'Argent and Côte Sud des Landes and in the dunes behind. Wars can never last forever and bank presidents with extra cash on their hands have to plan for the future. He's already purchased some of these and has offers on others.'

Framed in art nouveau and complimented by a silver pen-and-ink stand with kneeling nude at the inkwell was a photo of the wife, two daughters, a villa in Neuilly, probably, and the family poodle.

‘Messieurs … Messieurs, what is this? You invade the privacy of Chairman Bolduc's office without permission? You search but I do not have the necessary …
Vite, vite, immédiatement, s'il vous plaît …
The magistrate's warrant!'

This keeper of the spare key had even snapped her fingers. ‘Deal with her in the boardroom, Chief Inspector, while I take a more thorough look at these files and that route map. There's got to be a garage to service those vans and a depot to store all that contraband. Ask her where it is. If she objects, tell her that the Action Courts will be interested.'

Objecting to being hustled out of the office, she refused to budge and sharply cast the early-morning's hastily made-up deep brown eyes at what Hermann was up to.

‘Madame,' insisted this obstinate Sûreté to distract her and give that partner of his time to find out all he could, ‘the names, please, of the driver and his assistant.'

He had even thumped his little black notebook on the desk in front of her and had taken the monsieur's pen and was now dipping it into the inkwell. ‘The Action Courts, Inspector? What is this, please?'

Nothing but damage control was racing through her mind, felt St-Cyr, noting that beauty often came in various forms at the age of forty-four or forty-six and that dealing with trouble was paramount among such attributes. ‘Items not usual for a bank van were found with what remained of the cash, madame.'

Merde!
It had finally happened and she had let the pen betray her feelings. ‘Though I still wear the wedding ring lest that reminder be cut off, Inspector, it's Mademoiselle Yvonne Roget and has been ever since I joined the bank in 1934. Murders of whom, please, and was our van robbed but not of all of its cash?'

‘Only some of it.'

‘That's not an adequate answer. What's this all about?'

‘Two murders with subordinate charges.'

They could see that she had been badly shaken, felt Yvonne, the Sûreté drawing out a chair for her, the Gestapo having found what he had felt necessary and pouring her a stiff one.

‘Merci,'
she quavered, but had they really believed her? Flashing the Gestapo an anxiously fleeting smile, she would let the tears come and the lips quiver. ‘Both the driver and his assistant?
Ah mon Dieu, mon Dieu, quel désastre, quelle tragédie!
Both have little children and big families. Why would anyone do such a thing?'

Offered the Sûreté's handkerchief, she found it clean and ironed well enough, though smelling of the stewed ivy-leaf-with-pine-needle water he had used instead of the soap most could never get these days. Dabbing at her eyes and hoping that he had shaken out all of the sand he would also have used, she tried not to smudge shadow, foundation, rouge and face powder, but heard again that one saying, ‘Their names, Mademoiselle Roget? Please, it is necessary, and the addresses. And while you're at it, jot down those of Chairman Bolduc's mistress. One never knows when such information might be useful.'

This
salaud
was going to want everything! ‘René Deniard was the driver, Raymond Paquette, the assistant. Both have been with the bank for some time, the first since 1938, the second since 1939. They were to have returned last Thursday, possibly late, but Chairman Bolduc, he felt we should give them a little more time.'

Three days of it. The cologne she had hastily applied before arriving had the lightest of citrus blends and a bouquet of lavender and rosemary that was
trés délicat et merveilleux.
‘That's Guerlain's Eau de Cologne Impériale.'

Ah bon
, she would say it with a faint, sad smile ‘A gift from my boss. He's always finding such things for myself, and for others too, of course.'

‘And Deniard and Paquette were not called up in 1938 and '39? Why was this, please?'

‘Are such not necessary to banks and those not necessary to wars?'

‘That is not the answer needed.'

The worm. Well all right then, Chief Inspector, let's see how it turns! ‘Deniard had bad eyesight; Paquette the same.'

How understanding of Bolduc, but neither had worn glasses, though those could, perhaps, have been thrown into that
gazo
's
firebox with the pocket contents and somehow failed to turn up in the ashes. ‘And this van, mademoiselle, they had a lot of pickups, did they?' Hermann was now perusing the photos on the wall behind the desk, having just sorted through some other files.

‘Oui, je pense …'
she began, but must this one seize every opportunity to distract her so as to let the other find out everything?

‘You knew, did you, exactly where those pickups were to be made and what was to be collected?'

Ah Sainte Mère!
‘Inspector, I did not say that they had lots of pickups for stuff to sell on the
marché noir
. Me, I don't know anything about that business. How could I?'

‘But you did know they were up to something other than for the bank. You must have. You've been personal secretary here since 1934.'

‘Pour l'amour du ciel
, I'm not his wife!'

Nor mistress, sad though that might well be. ‘But you do keep the wheels well oiled. You must. Now be so good as to write down the address of the bank's garage and depot, and while you're at it, the name or names of those in charge.'

‘And their addresses?'

Normally far from easily ruffled, felt St-Cyr, she had simply used that outburst to stop Hermann from looking at those photos too closely. Dropping those lovely eyes under Sûreté scrutiny, she swallowed tightly, deliberately touched the base of her throat, and took a deep breath before swiftly glancing up at Hermann who was again trying the desk drawers, but was she now wondering if he would demand the key or simply find the spare one she had hidden, just like the other one?

‘Now please, Inspectors, I must notify Monsieur Grégoire, who is the operations manager but does not live in this building.'

‘Like yourself?' asked the Sûreté.

But could that readily be admitted if a little something else was added? ‘
Oui
, the bank has always provided me with a flat here. Chairman Bolduc, he often works late and I am always on call because it is necessary.' A cosy little arrangement, was this what he was thinking? Well good, now she could hit him with it! ‘Madame Bolduc is my sister. Me, I am aunt to her two darlings, Didi and Yvonne, ages ten and twelve.'

Hermann looked as if he was about to choke, but there was a more important matter. ‘And your ex-husband, mademoiselle?'