Codename Eagle (21 page)

“Yes, and look where it’s got us!”

Paul and Didier remained silent, not wanting to make Henri feel any worse than he already did.

They were standing by the front door of the Granels’ home. Josette was still in the car, and despite the blow of discovering that the Bernards had been spirited away by Alain Noury, Henri’s first concern was still getting his daughter to hospital as quickly as he could.

“You’re quite certain they’re not in their own house?” he said to Rosalie.

“Go and check if you want,” Rosalie said, indignantly, “but I know they’re not there. I know everything that happens, or doesn’t happen, in Bélesta. I went in after the Germans left and locked it up. No one’s been in there since; go and look for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe—”

“Go and look,” Rosalie ordered, glaring at Henri.

Paul ran over to the house and found both front and back doors locked. He peered in through the windows and saw that the house had remained undisturbed since Rosalie’s visit.

“What can he possibly hope to gain by keeping them? Henri asked when Paul returned.

“I think I know,” Paul said. “He heard the twins talking about the big money they were getting for helping deliver Max to the Germans. The last payment is due tonight, when they leave. That’s what he’s after: he’s going to try to sell the Bernards to the Germans.”

“Yes. Yes, that must be it. He’s going to take them back to the forest.”

“I don’t think so. As far as he knows we’re still there, or at least some of us are. We said nothing in front of Alain about leaving the forest, so going back in with the Bernards would be too much of a risk.”

“So he’s waiting on the plateau?”

Paul shook his head. “He’d be too exposed out there in the open, and he’d have to hang around for too long.”

“Where, then?”

Paul turned to Didier. “You said he had a house in Espezel.”

Didier nodded. “It was his parents’ place, where he was brought up. And it’s on the plateau. That’s where he’s taken them.”

“Planning to wait for the Germans until after dark,” Paul added. “He’ll drive out to meet them with the Bernards as his prisoners.”

“Then you must go and save them,” Rosalie Granel said. “Go now, quickly.”

“But I must get my daughter to hospital,” Henri said.

Rosalie looked over to the car. “Your daughter? What’s wrong with her?”

“She was wounded. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

Rosalie’s face instantly softened. “Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place, you silly man!” She bustled off towards Henri’s car. “Antoine, go and fetch our car. You can take Monsieur Mazet and his daughter to Lavelanet.”

“Yes, Rosalie,” Antoine said obediently and hurried away.

“And you boys must go to bring Max and Julia back from Espezel,” Rosalie said as Paul, Didier and Henri followed her towards the car.

“We must try,” Paul said to Henri. “Everything we’ve done over the past few days will be for nothing if we don’t stop Alain now.”

“It’s dangerous, I should help you.”

“No, Henri,” Didier said. “You have to stay with Josette.”

“But Alain is armed! I saw the pistol he’s carrying.”

“And I have my shotgun in the car.”

“Do you know the house?” Paul asked Didier.

“Espezel is a small place. Anyone there will tell us where it is.”

“But there’s still Puivert tonight,” Henri said anxiously to Paul. “You must be there by eleven thirty, ready for the plane.”

“There’s time, Henri, plenty of time.”

Rosalie had already opened the back door of the car. Josette was curled up to one side, her face resting on the window, eyes closed.

“The poor child has fainted,” Rosalie gasped.

But then Josette opened her eyes. They widened as she saw four anxious faces staring in at her.

“I feel tired, Papa,” she said to Henri, “really tired.”

“We’re leaving for the hospital now,” Henri told her. “Antoine is taking us in his car.”

As her father and Rosalie helped her from the car, Josette was too weary even to ask why there had been a change of plan.

Paul, ready to leave, took Josette by the hand. “We know where the Bernards are,” he said slowly and deliberately. “We’re going to get them.”

Josette’s eyelids flickered; she was only just conscious. “Is it … is it dangerous?”

“We’ll be fine. Didier has his shotgun.”

“But you will be careful, both of you.”

“We will,” Didier said, “and we’ll see you later.”

“But you’re leaving tonight,” Josette said turning back to Paul, her eyes suddenly wider. “I
will
see you before you go?”

“Of course,” Paul said. “We’ll get Max and Julia away from Alain and bring them back to Lavelanet.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” He smiled. “I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to you, could I?”

E
ven when the day was at its brightest it felt more like night inside Alain Noury’s house at Espezel. Daylight rarely found its way through the shuttered windows into the dusty corners and recesses.

The house stood alone, away from the wide central area of the village, on a narrow road leading uphill towards the bigger town of Belcaire. From a distance it was imposing, and in Alain’s grandparents’ time it had been an impressive house. But times had changed, the family fortunes had dwindled and now the building had lost its grandeur and was sadly dilapidated.

Roof tiles were cracked or missing, allowing winter snows and hard rains to find their way through to the top floor; one exterior wall bulged at the bottom while another leaned in dangerously at the top; the windows and shutters were mostly bare of paint and riddled with rot. Close up it made a sorry sight.

The interior was even worse: its pervasive dank, musty atmosphere contrasted starkly with the clean, clear mountain air outside.

Thick cobwebs matted the high, paint-flaked ceilings, some of them spiralling downwards in long, tight columns. Wallpaper curled free from the plaster, while rotting floorboards were spongy underfoot or broken completely in places. Mouse and rat droppings littered the floors and even the flat surfaces of some of the furniture.

The house was exactly how Alain liked it.

Alain was a hoarder, a collector. He bought and sold, but his purchases far outnumbered his sales. He would buy almost anything and then find space for it somewhere amid the massive, dark oak furniture that had stood in the same place since being hauled into position by his grandfather.

There were stacks of unmatched, patterned crockery, much of it chipped; black iron cooking pans nesting one inside another; empty glass pickling jars; piles of dusty, moth-ravaged rugs, bed sheets and woollen blankets. Old, crudely painted oils, many faded from the sun, stood against the walls along with smeared and pitted mirrors in broken gilt frames. Sideboard and cupboard drawers could hardly be opened, stuffed as they were with odd pieces of cutlery, boxed sets of fish knives and more fabric; linen, lace, cotton.

Then there was the furniture Alain had added: armchairs with springs poking through the coverings, rickety tables and wonky chairs; most of it was worthless. A massive, glass-fronted bookcase was packed to capacity with dusty, crumbling volumes that Alain had never opened, let alone read. And the tools: hammers, hoes, long-handled scythes, garden spades, shovels and sieves.

The house was a dump and a dumping ground, and Alain was always at his happiest when he was there among his things.

His blue van was parked at the back of the house. It had to be close to the wall, for the space between house and garden, once a wide terrace, had dwindled to virtually nothing as thick weeds relentlessly sprouted and spread.

Beyond the terrace was a garden, now an overgrown jungle, where thick creepers and ivy were gradually strangling the life from the once abundant fruit trees. Alain never ventured into the garden.

He had made coffee and offered it, in chipped cups, to Max and Julia Bernard. They refused and watched in silence while Alain sipped his.

The Bernards were sitting on upright, wooden chairs, hands tied behind their backs to the chairs.

“Can’t you untie us?” Julia asked. “This rope is hurting my wrists.”

Alain was facing them in a sagging armchair. He smiled shrewdly. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. You’re very valuable; I can’t afford to lose you.”

“You could be condemning us to death if you go through with this plan,” Max said.

Alain shrugged. “I’m sorry, but it’s business. Don’t take it personally.”

“Let my wife go, then; it’s only me they want.”

“I’ll let our German friends decide that.”

“But you don’t even know where to meet them or what time they’ll get to the plateau.”

“Oh, I know exactly where to meet them: I saw my cousins there with them the other day. They told me some ridiculous story about finding land for grazing cattle, but they couldn’t fool me: they were checking out the landing site. So we’ll get there after dark and then wait. It’s quiet, so we won’t be disturbed.”

There was a sudden movement against one wall as a mouse scurried along the skirting board before disappearing behind a cupboard.

Alain smiled again. “They’re quite friendly.” The smile faded. “I don’t have many friends, you know, not even my cousins, really. They won’t be too pleased when I turn up on the plateau with you – I’ll be taking the money they were meant to have. But it’s their own fault. They should have cut me in from the start.”

He picked up a pistol from a small side table jammed against the armchair and studied it. “You know, I’ve had a difficult time these last months, so it’s about time my luck changed.”

Max and Julia remained silent and Alain gave them a hostile glare, his eyes flicking from one to the other. “Don’t you want to know why?”

“Yes, tell us why,” Max said quickly. “We’re very interested.”

Alain grinned and settled back in the chair. “Well, there was Victor Forêt, of course, though he’s not a problem any more. But my real troubles started last summer. It had all been going so well before that.” His face darkened. “Then Henri Mazet and his crowd messed everything up. They almost ruined my life.”

“Henri?” Max said. “How did Henri do that?”

“Well, if you really want to know, I’ll tell you.”

He took his time, explaining everything in great detail, revealing how he and his friends, Yvette Bigou and Gaston Rouzard, had teamed up with the Andorrans to rob and murder Jews escaping across the Pyrenees through the Eagle Trail into Spain.

“Making a fortune, we were,” he said, “until Henri Mazet and his friends came along. That kid, Paul, was meant to cross into Spain, but they worked out what was going on and killed our Andorran friends. They were onto Yvette. I knew she’d tell them everything, even about me, so I had to kill her. I had no choice. And then Gaston – I couldn’t give them the opportunity of speaking to him. He always was a loud mouth. So I shut him up for good.”

He held up the pistol and pointed it at Max. “With this.”

P
eering through a gap in a broken shutter, Paul could just see the glimmer of candlelight reflected in the grimy windowpane.

Moving slowly, he crept along the wall, ready to spring back into cover. He reached the back door and waited, listening, but heard nothing.

Didier was watching from no more than five metres away, hidden in tall grasses and weeds, his shotgun at the ready. He’d told Paul that he would not hesitate to take Alain out if it came to a shooting match. Their lives were at stake. Again.

Paul gripped the metal handle, pushed it down and applied a little pressure to the door. It moved; it was unlocked. Alain was obviously feeling confident – perhaps too confident. Pulling the door shut, Paul carefully released his hold and moved silently back into the cover of the weeds.

“It’s not locked,” he said quietly to Didier.

“Better than we hoped,” Didier replied. “Are you ready, then?”

Paul nodded.

“Knock as loudly as you can; shout as well.”

“Oh, he’ll hear me, don’t worry.”

They had decided on another diversionary tactic. The hope was that with Paul hammering at the front door, Alain would go to investigate, giving Didier the chance to burst in through the back door in a surprise attack.

If Alain was unarmed or threw down his gun and surrendered, all well and good, but if he even raised the pistol, Didier would let him have it with both barrels.

“Good luck,” Paul whispered as he hurried away.

It was nearly dark. They had known for certain that Alain and his prisoners were in the house as soon as they arrived and spotted the open-backed blue van at the rear of the building. But they chose to wait for the shadows of evening to aid their attack, hoping, too, that the passing hours would increase Alain’s confidence and that as a result he might drop his guard.

It seemed, with the unlocked door, that perhaps he had.

Time was ticking and the countdown to
Eagle
had begun, but they knew they would get only one chance with their rescue bid. It seemed better to wait, to plan and prepare, rather than crash straight in as soon as they arrived.

But now they were on the move.

Readying himself to burst in through the back door, Didier edged slowly forward. Once the noise started, he would give it ten seconds – any longer could leave Paul, who was unarmed, in big trouble. He peered through the gap in the shutter and saw the candlelight seem to flicker momentarily as though someone had passed by, causing a draught.

Breathing in deeply, Didier took a couple more steps and then waited.

The noise began: a rapid pounding on the front door and Paul’s voice loud and clear in the still evening air.

“Come on, open up!” he bawled. “Open up, Alain, we know you’re in there; you can’t escape! Give up while you can! Come on, open up!”

Didier completed his countdown, and as the hammering and shouting continued he grabbed the door handle, pushed it down and burst inside.

He found himself in a small kitchen, where a steaming coffee pot perched on top of an ancient cooker.