Codename Eagle (7 page)

“But—”

They were out of the room before Henri had the chance to stop them. Grabbing their coats, they left the house to walk to the factory, where they knew Didier would soon be arriving for work.

They strode quickly and in silence, side-by-side, each assessing what they’d heard and thrilled at the thought that they were at last taking some positive action, although right then, neither had the remotest idea what that action would be.

“Do you believe what he said?” Josette asked eventually.

“About what?”

“That bomb? That terrible nuclear thing?”

“Of course I believe him. I remember my father talking about the possibility of something like it.”

They were nearing the factory when Josette spoke again. “You didn’t give Papa a chance to say no to Max back there.”

“We couldn’t say no. This is our chance to do something important, Josette. It’s exactly what we’ve been waiting for.”

“Yes, but aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Forgetting what?”

“There’s a plane coming to pick you up and a submarine waiting off the coast of Portugal. You’ll be gone from here in a few days.”

J
ulia Bernard was not a woman who was easily frightened, but she was terrified now. It had all happened so quickly. One moment she’d been sleeping peacefully, and the next, two of them were in the house – in the bedroom – ordering her to get dressed and demanding to know Max’s whereabouts.

Even then Julia thought fast. They had allowed her a little privacy as she pulled on her clothes, so by the time she faced them again she was ready with a story. It was thin, but it was all she could think of. Max was away for a few days, visiting a friend in Perpignan. She didn’t know why she said Perpignan; it could have been anywhere. They didn’t believe her, she knew that, but at least the man in charge had not yelled and threatened like the others. And at least Max had not arrived back to be captured.

But when Julia was bundled into the car and driven away, one of the men had remained at the house. All Julia could do now was pray that a neighbour had seen or heard something and would warn her husband before he walked into a trap.

She was in a locked room in a house somewhere deep in the forest of Bélesta. It was gloomy, dusty and dark. The shutters were closed and Julia had been ordered not to touch them. Outside a dog was barking; it had been barking ever since they’d arrived. But how long ago was that? Julia didn’t know. An hour? Two hours? More? She didn’t know. Every second seemed like an eternity.

The door creaked open and a man stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light from the room beyond. He’d been at the house; he was in charge.

“Will you come in here, please?” he asked quietly, in French.

Julia got to her feet, her heart thudding. There was no point in disobeying his request. She would do as they asked, but she was determined to tell them nothing.

The man stood aside as she stepped past him into the other room. It was much bigger: a sprawling, heavily beamed room with sagging armchairs and a dark oak dresser that covered most of one wall. The shutters were open and Julia could just see through the grease-smeared windows that outside the sun was shining.

There was an upright chair in the centre of the room. An older man stood behind it. He’d been at the house too.

“Sit here, please,” he said. He too spoke quietly, but there was no mistaking the menace in his voice.

It chilled Julia; again she did as she was instructed. She could sense the man behind her, not moving. She could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head. She forced herself to focus on the man in front of her. He was watching too, but his eyes were softer, kinder perhaps. But Julia told herself not to be fooled.

He touched the lapel of the military jacket he wore. “By now you will have realized, Madame Bernard, that we are not, as we appear, French gendarme officers.”

“You’re Germans,” Julia answered, her voice wavering slightly. “I heard you speak when your friend pushed me into the car.”

“I’m sorry if you were hurt,” the German said, his eyes flicking for a moment to the man behind Julia. “I have no wish to hurt a woman; I have no particular wish to hurt anyone.”

Outside, the dog continued to bark.

“My name is Lau, Hauptmann Kurt Lau,” the officer said, frowning and glancing towards the window. “I’m here to escort you and your husband back to Germany as quickly as possible. Where is he, Madame Bernard?”

Julia swallowed. “I told you before, he’s in Perpignan, visiting an old friend.”

“And the name of this friend?”

“I don’t know.”

Lau raised his eyebrows. “An old friend, but you don’t know his name?”

“He’s my husband’s friend, not mine. They were at university together, I think.”

“Ah, you think.”

Julia said nothing.

“And when will your husband return, Madame Bernard?”

“I don’t know. Three days; four, perhaps. He didn’t say for certain.”

Lau continued to stare at Julia, his eyes unblinking. “Madame Bernard, I said I have no wish to hurt you, and that’s perfectly true. None of my men would choose to harm you, either.” He looked briefly at Erich Steidle, who stood like a statue behind Julia. “But my colleague is skilled in interrogation techniques, some of them not very pleasant. I suggest that for your own good you stop lying now and tell me exactly where your husband is.”

Julia’s blood froze. For a moment she was ready to burst into tears and beg the German not to hurt her. But she sucked in a halting breath and spoke bravely. “As I said before, I don’t know exactly where my husband is.”

The radio operator had sent a simple message to base. There was an unexpected slight delay in the mission. The pick-up for the return flight could not go ahead tonight.

Lau was irritated but calm; he wouldn’t allow himself to become angry. Anger was not good or useful in a soldier. It affected clear thinking and decision-making, and Lau needed to think clearly and make firm decisions.

Once the radio transmitter was shut down, Lau sent the operator outside to join two more of his men who were keeping watch for unexpected visitors. The sixth member of the team was back at the Bernards’ house in Bélesta, waiting.

Lau and Steidle were in the kitchen smoking strong cigarettes.

The officer took a long drag on his cigarette and frowned. The barking dog was only increasing his irritation. “Where are the twins?” he asked gruffly.

“Cutting down trees,” Steidle told him with a shrug of his shoulders. “Or chopping logs, or whatever it is they do.”

“Why don’t they take that animal with them?”

“They say it’s meant to warn them if strangers turn up when they’re away from the yard. The sound of barking travels for miles.”

Lau sighed. “I’ve noticed.”

“Do you believe the woman, sir?”

Lau had given Julia time to think but warned her that she didn’t have long.

“Of course not. Do you?”

Steidle shook his head. “Shall I question her?”

“Not yet. If she’s harmed, her husband is far less likely to cooperate when we do track him down.”

“Where do you think he is, sir?”

“Not in Perpignan, for sure. He’s close. Maybe he did go visiting, but only overnight. He’ll be back.”

“Should I put another man in the house?”

Lau nodded. “When we relieve Werner. He can cope if Bernard returns before then.”

“They won’t be in gendarme uniforms, sir. Unless we give them ours.”

“No, the uniforms will become a liability if we’re seen in them too often. The locals will start asking questions. Once more and then we’ll switch to civilian clothes over our own uniforms.”

“And the police vehicle?”

“We’ll use it once more, that’s all.”

“But we don’t have another car, sir.”

“Then we’ll get one if it becomes necessary!” Lau snapped. He sighed and looked at Steidle. “I’m sorry, Erich. It’s that bloody dog; the howling is beginning to drive me crazy.”

“It’s all right, sir,” Steidle said. “I understand.”

The officer stubbed out his cigarette in the tin lid that served as an ashtray and glanced around the room. It was grubby, untidy, and even more dilapidated in daylight than beneath the dull lamps of night.

The isolated position meant there was no electricity and no telephone. Apart from radio contact with headquarters, Lau and his team were cut off from the outside world. The operation was not proving as simple as he had anticipated.

“I still believe we’ll take Bernard today,” he said. “Then we can call in the plane and be away from here tomorrow night.” He checked his watch. “And if Bernard is coming home today he’ll be back by midday. Frenchmen never miss their lunch.”

R
udi Werner was bored. Sitting straight-backed in an upright chair, he had read the spine of every book on the sagging shelves in the sitting room at the back of Max and Julia Bernard’s house. First he read them all silently and then he read them aloud, practising his far from perfect French.

He reached the final book on the bottom shelf and, rather than go back to the top shelf and start yet again, he took out his Walther P38 pistol. It was cold in his hand. Cold but comfortable.

Werner liked weapons, particularly small arms: the pistol, the rifle, the submachine-gun. He was good with them all, and even better with the stick grenade. He could throw a stick grenade a very long way.

He examined the pistol. It was new, and he preferred it to his previous pistol, the old Luger P08. The Walther P38 was a little smaller and lighter and, in the right hands, was accurate at up to fifty metres. Werner released the eight-round magazine and checked the weapon for dust. It was immaculate, as always. And ready for action, as was Werner.

He clipped the magazine back into its housing and studied the pistol closely. Perfectly balanced and weighted, it was a precision killing machine. Just like Werner. He glanced at his watch: 11.35. They would come to relieve him soon.

Werner didn’t enjoy being in France and he wasn’t particularly enjoying this mission; it was too … passive.

Werner wanted to go to England, to be part of the invasion. He was convinced the invasion would still happen, no matter what the doubters said. Werner dreamed of marching triumphantly up Pall Mall among the ranks of proud German soldiers when the ultimate victory was won.

He was daydreaming about this victory march through the streets of London when he heard the key slip into the lock of the front door. Before it had even turned, he had moved noiselessly to the connecting wall between the sitting room and the equally small kitchen and dining area at the front of the house.

He pressed his back against the wall and raised the Walther so that it nestled softly against his chest. Werner smiled. Bernard was back, just as Hauptmann Lau had predicted. He would take him, no trouble. And if Bernard gave him any trouble at all, he would be sorry. Very sorry.

The front door swung open and Werner waited.

Bernard didn’t call out. Why would he? He was expecting his wife to be there as usual.

Werner heard the door close and then footsteps. Bernard was crossing the room. The connecting door between the two rooms was open.

Werner silently moved the pistol away from his chest into a comfortable firing position. His index finger was on the trigger but applying no pressure.

The approaching footsteps stopped.

Werner frowned; perhaps Bernard was suspicious after all. But then the footsteps began again and Werner made ready to terrify the target with a shouted command to halt.

But the word froze on his lips.

It wasn’t Bernard. It was a small, plump, elderly woman, wearing a blue and white checked housecoat over a black dress.

She saw Werner, and the pistol aimed at her heart, and her eyes bulged. An ear-piercing scream escaped from her gaping mouth, and before Werner had the chance to order her to stop she had fainted and was lying at his feet.

“Shit!” Werner breathed.

“You’d better come away from the window, Antoine,” Paul said as they watched the police car cruise slowly past and come to a standstill outside the Bernard house further down the street.

Four men got out, two of them dressed as gendarmes and two in plain clothes.

“They’re not from around here,” Antoine Granel said.

“They don’t even look French,” Didier added.

“They’re Germans,” Antoine said. “Max was right.”

They had travelled quickly to Bélesta, Antoine leading the way in his ancient Renault, with Paul and Didier following on Didier’s motorbike. Even at the snail’s pace at which Antoine drove, the eight-kilometre journey took just fifteen minutes.

Back in Lavelanet, Paul had come up with the idea of watching the Bernard house, reasoning that if someone was waiting for Max, he would have to be relieved at some point. Even if the house were empty, Julia’s abductors would surely return for another attempt to find Max.

And Paul had been proved right. As he watched, the four men took a cursory look up and down the deserted street and then went quickly into the house.

“My Rosalie, my poor Rosalie,” Antoine said, turning away from the window. “I should have forbidden her to go over there.”

“I don’t think that would have stopped her,” Paul said. “She was very determined.”

“She’s always been brave,” Antoine continued. “And an actress, such an actress. I’m always telling her she should have been on the stage.”

Antoine’s wife, Rosalie, had volunteered to go across to the Bernard house to discover if anyone was lying in wait. She kept a spare key for emergencies and said that if necessary she would say she was the cleaner paying her regular weekly visit.

It seemed like a good idea to Paul and Didier at the time, but when Rosalie didn’t emerge soon after going into the house, they began to have their doubts. And now the police car had arrived.

“I’m scared,” Antoine said. “She’s old, you know, older than me. And I’m nearly seventy. I must go over.”

“That could make the situation worse,” Paul said. “Wait a little longer, please.”

“But they might hurt her.”