Night Sky (47 page)

Now, under Vasson’s cold stare, the boy dropped his eyes and looked out of the window. There were no more winks.

They were approaching the Gare du Nord. Almost home. Vasson missed Paris very much; Brussels was dull by comparison. This was his fifth run to Paris, but he never got to stay for any length of time, and this visit would be the shortest yet. After seeing Kloffer he would catch the next train back. But for once he didn’t mind too much: Brussels promised a great deal of excitement over the next two days.

The train ground to a halt. Vasson stood up. The airmen got to their feet, their eyes on Vasson.

Vasson joined the throng of people leaving the train and strolled down the platform towards the barrier. He could feel the others following him. At the barrier there were two French policemen checking papers and two
Feldgendarmen
examining people’s faces. Vasson knew they would get through all right: he’d arranged it with Kloffer.

The gendarme looked at Vasson’s papers and pushed them quickly back into his hand. Yes: he’d been briefed all right.

Vasson wandered slowly into the main concourse and glanced around, as if looking for someone. He glanced casually behind him and saw that all the airmen were through the barrier.

He waited until they had all found him again, then walked out of the station into the Rue de Dunkerque.

There were only two people at the bus stop. Vasson strolled up and stood behind them. The airmen followed suit. Vasson moved closer to the Americans’ leader and muttered, ‘I’m off now. Wait for a girl wearing a purple hat. Bye.’

Vasson went through his pantomime of looking at his watch, glancing up the street for a bus and then, after shaking his head, moving away. The other Americans looked around uncertainly, wondering whether they should follow Vasson, but, seeing that their leader did not, settled down to wait.

Vasson walked back to the station, went into the booking hall and, very casually, turned back until he could watch the bus stop from the darkness of the doorway.

The next courier was meant to pick up the passengers – or parcels, as they insisted on calling them – in five minutes. In fact she arrived in eight.

It was the same girl as before: a dark, rather plain girl with a permanent frown. She was wearing the purple hat. She stood patiently behind the group until a bus destination ‘République–Bastille’ came along. Then she moved forward to the front of the line and got into the bus. The airmen got in behind her.

It was the classic cut-out rendezvous. The two couriers never met, never saw each other and were incapable of identifying each other. Vasson smiled: doubtless the organisers were very proud of the method. After all, it worked very well – so long as everyone was on the same side.

As the bus drew away Vasson saw the Czech sitting in the back of the bus, staring calmly out of the window. He was going to be all right, that man. He’d deliver the goods.

But there was a back-up, just in case. It was only good for the first part of the journey, but if the Czech failed it would be better than nothing. He’d asked Kloffer to provide a tail.

He looked around for signs of one. There hadn’t been anyone in the bus queue, he was sure of that. A car then. But there were no black Citroëns in sight. The only possibility was a battered old Peugeot which pulled out from the kerb and went off in the same direction as the bus. Yes, perhaps that was it. If so, Kloffer was definitely improving.

The concourse was crowded when Vasson got back into the station and it took him some time to get across to the other side. The plain unmarked door was behind the men’s lavatories, next to the railway security office. But he didn’t go straight there. Instead he went into the lavatories, glancing behind him as he went. No-one. He used the urinal and went out into the concourse again. This time he paused and took a good look round. Still no-one. He’d known there wouldn’t be, but it was always best to make sure.

He strolled towards the unmarked door, took one last look, and slipped inside.

Kloffer was there, waiting.

They nodded at each other. Vasson sat down and said, ‘You’ve done as I suggested?’

‘Yes, we have several tails on them. They’ll be followed as far as possible.’

‘And the tails, they’re not your usual gorillas, I trust?’

Kloffer looked annoyed. His men’s appearance was an old bone of contention. He said testily, ‘They will do their job well, don’t worry.’

Vasson said, ‘Good.’

‘And your man, will he do
his
job? It’s a lot to ask of one man – and not one of
my
men at that.’

‘He’s been properly briefed. As long as he can make contact all right, then nothing will go wrong.’

‘Yes. As long as he
can
…’

‘He will.’

‘So!’ Kloffer put his fingertips together. ‘That takes care of that then …’

‘Yes.’ Vasson’s only regret was that he wouldn’t be in on all the arrests. He would have liked that.

Kloffer examined Vasson with his cold, hard eyes. ‘Now, the Brussels end. Are you sure you have it under control?’

‘Oh yes. I’ll give you the lot within three days.’

‘But the leader – have you identified him?’

‘Yes. Finally.’

‘And—?’

‘Tomorrow. You’ll have him by tomorrow.’

Kloffer nodded and stood up. ‘After – when you’ve finished there – you’d better come back to Paris.’

‘That was what I intended.’

Kloffer said deliberately, ‘But not for too long. And you must stay away from your old haunts. You’re no use to me if you’re dead.’ He smiled faintly. ‘And you would be dead – very quickly.’

Vasson sighed, ‘You’re just saying that, Kloffer. Just to keep me in order. I’m beginning not to believe you any more.’

‘Ah … but there’s only one way to find out if I’m lying. And that might be fatal for you, might it not? Besides …,’ Kloffer went on carefully, ‘if you were dead you wouldn’t be able to spend any of that money you’re so carefully accumulating. That would be a pity, wouldn’t it?’

Vasson suppressed his irritation. Kloffer thought he did it just for the money. He was a stupid man.

He decided that he couldn’t be bothered to argue the point. Anyway perhaps Kloffer was right – better to be out of Paris and alive than shot in the back.

‘Okay. So I don’t stay in Paris. So where do I go?’

Kloffer said, ‘Ah! Where? Who knows? We’ll see.’ He smiled, enjoying what he imagined to be his little moment of power. Vasson thought: Screw you.

Kloffer stood up and put on his hat. ‘But I promise you the job will be equally interesting and rewarding.’

First the stick, then the carrot. Kloffer was so predictable.

Kloffer paused at the door. ‘Goodbye, and we look forward to some excellent results in Brussels.’

‘And I look forward to some excellent results in the money department, Kloffer.’

‘Don’t be greedy. You earn enough.’

‘But am I paid what I’m worth? That’s the question.’

‘You could be worth nothing. Remember that,
Marseillais!
’

Kloffer opened the door and chuckled to himself. ‘Goodbye. That’s what I always call you, you know – The
Marseillais!
’ He watched Vasson’s face, then, smiling still, went out.

The door closed and Vasson clenched his fists. He took a long, deep breath to calm himself.

The bastard must have taken his thumb print and had it sent round to every police station in the country. It was the only way he could have found out.

It all came back to that filthy foreign woman … If it hadn’t been for her, he’d never have been on file …

It was her fault, the bitch.

Vasson shivered and stood up.

He hated Kloffer for knowing.

One day he’d get Kloffer. One day.

He looked at his watch. There was a train for Brussels in ten minutes.

As he walked angrily across the station he thought about the Brussels job. He saw the faces of the smug intellectuals running the operation, and imagined their expressions when they realised they’d been betrayed. It was the only thing that consoled him.

The train was late arriving. Vasson decided to go straight to the Café Mirabeau for dinner. The journey had made him hungry. Also Anne-Marie might be there and she would tell him the news. Or rather the lack of news. Even if there had been some early arrests south of Paris, no-one in Brussels could possibly have heard anything yet.

Anne-Marie. He’d be glad to be rid of her. She’d become a bore. When he’d first met her, she’d been rather sweet and it had been quite enjoyable to win her over. It had taken time, of course, because she had been very cautious. She’d only just been released by Mueller and she was suspicious of everything. But he’d been patient. He’d led her on, slowly but surely. In the end she had come to trust him completely, just as he knew she would. When she’d introduced him to her friends they’d given him simple jobs at first: running messages and errands and that kind of thing. Then at last had come the courier’s job: the real test. After that he was home and dry.

Anne-Marie. The trouble had started when she’d tricked him, that terrible evening. He’d quite liked her until then. He’d even imagined what it would be like to touch her, naked, and to hold her down, tight …

Then she spoilt it all. She tricked him by saying she loved him and that she just wanted to put her arms round him.
It was all her fault
. She’d flaunted herself, showing her knees, having those large breasts, smelling of sex … He’d found himself feeling her body and then she was naked and instead of staying still she
kept moving
– putting her arms round him, trying to kiss him on the lips. It had revolted him. In the end he’d put his arm across her neck and stopped her moving until he’d finished.

After that she disgusted him. He could hardly bear to look at her, particularly when she stared at him with those large reproachful eyes. Why couldn’t she have left him alone? Why did she have to do
dirty
things?

But he still had to make the effort to see her, otherwise all his work would be for nothing. It almost killed him. Whenever she moved he could see those large breasts …

But it was just for one more day. That was all. He must remember that. He gritted his teeth and went into the café.

The bitch was there, sitting in a corner. He could tell she’d been waiting for him. She looked worried: she was probably going to be difficult.

As soon as he sat down she said, ‘Everything all right?’

Vasson nodded. ‘I think so.’

‘Not sure?’

‘I don’t know. I always think I see shadows … You know.’ It was important to sow a slight seed of doubt, just in case news of the Paris arrests reached Brussels before he’d finished the job.

She nodded. ‘Probably nothing to worry about. But you—?’ She looked at him with concern and touched his hand. It was all he could do not to snatch it away. ‘Are
you
all right?’

‘Sure. Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘It was just … you’ve been so … withdrawn … well, cold,’ she finished painfully.

‘Oh? Well, it doesn’t mean anything.’

She brightened a little and he realised crossly that she had misinterpreted his words.

She said, ‘Oh, I’m so pleased. I thought – Well, quite honestly I didn’t know what to think. After … you know. I’ve been very confused.’

‘I’ve just been feeling the strain, that’s all.’

‘But – you seemed so angry! It’s been torturing me. What did I do wrong? Why were you so cross? And – why, oh
why
, Paul, did you hurt me?’

He sighed impatiently. ‘Did I?’

‘Yes.
Yes
.’ She spoke angrily, reproachfully.

‘Well, it was just the strain, as I say. Let’s just forget it, eh? You’re really getting things out of proportion.’

She gave him an agonised look. ‘Oh dear, I really don’t know what to think …’

Vasson thought: Christ, she’s going to go on and on unless I shut her up. He breathed deeply and said, ‘Look, dear, I’m truly sorry for what happened. I was upset, you see. I had a girl once – I’ve never told you this before – but …’ He made a face as if the memory gave him terrible pain. ‘… she died you see. And whenever … Well, whenever … I remember her I want to die too!’ He looked away as if it was too much to bear. He couldn’t help thinking what a good performance he was giving.

She said, ‘Oh! Oh, I see. I had no idea …’

She was buying it. Good. Time to ease off the subject. ‘Look, I’d rather not talk about it. D’you understand?’ She still looked unhappy, but nodded gently.

He said quickly, ‘How are things here, then? Quiet?’

She nodded.

He looked pleased – he
was
pleased. Then he put on a frown. ‘Look, there are a couple of things I’m a bit worried about – to do with security and, well, other things. I’d like to discuss them with Guy. Can you arrange a meeting, here or somewhere near?’

‘But – does it have to be Guy himself?’

‘Yes, it does.’ Of course it had to be Guy: he was the most important one of all. ‘And Patrice, too. Any chance of arranging something for tomorrow morning at about eleven?’

‘I don’t know … It’s a bit unusual. They don’t like too many of us to meet at once. And, well, they’ll want to know
why
.’

What a stupid woman, looking for problems. He was so irritated with her he could shake her by the throat. He said calmly, ‘Look, I’m really worried and I do think it’s important to talk the thing over with them. Really! Can’t you just take my word for it? It’s important. I have to have that meeting.’

She blinked. ‘All right. I’ll try.’

‘Good.’ He got up to leave. She frowned anxiously and said, ‘Where are you going?’

‘Mmm? Oh, home, I expect.’

‘Don’t you want to eat?’

The answer was yes but he didn’t want to eat with her. It would spoil his appetite. He answered, ‘No, I’m going straight to bed. I’ll see you in the morning. You will arrange that meeting, won’t you? It’s important.’

She nodded, her face drawn and pale.

He realised she still wasn’t convinced. Better make sure. He put his hands on the table. ‘Look, after tomorrow, perhaps we’ll go out for the day. Into the country. Would you like that? It would be nice to – well, relax a little. I have been feeling the strain, I can see that … Shall we do that? After the meeting?’