Jackdaws

Flick said to Paul, “Someone is sure to notice there are only three cleaners instead of the usual six. Antoinette is the supervisor, so they may decide to ask her what’s gone wrong. If anyone shows up here, you’ll just have to shoot him.”

“Okay.”

Flick kissed Paul on the mouth, briefly but hard, then went out, with Jelly and Greta following.

On the other side of the street, the storekeeper was staring down at the Militian dying on the pavement. He glanced up at the three women, then looked away again. Flick guessed he was already rehearsing his answers to questions: “I saw nothing. No one else was there.”

The three remaining Jackdaws turned toward the square. Flick set a brisk pace, wanting to get to the château as quickly as possible. She could see the gates directly ahead of her, on the far side of the square. Ruby and her two captors were just passing through. Well, Flick thought, at least Ruby is inside.

The Jackdaws reached the end of the street and started across the square. The window of the Café des Sports, smashed in last week’s shootout, was boarded over. Two guards from the château came across the square at a run, carrying their rifles, their boots clattering on the cobblestones, no doubt heading for the wounded Militian. They took no notice of the little group of cleaning women, who scuttled out of the way.

Flick reached the gate. This was the first really dangerous moment.

One guard was left. He kept looking past Flick at his comrades running across the square. He glanced at Flick’s pass and waved her in. She stepped through the gate, then turned to wait for the others.

Greta came next, and the guard did the same. He was more interested in what was going on in the rue du Château.

Flick thought they were home and dry, but when he had checked Jelly’s pass he glanced into her basket. “Something smells good,” he said.

Flick held her breath.

“It’s some sausage for my supper,” Jelly said. “You can smell the garlic.”

He waved her on and looked across the square again. The three Jackdaws walked up the short drive, mounted the steps, and at last entered the château.

CHAPTER 50

DIETER SPENT THE afternoon shadowing Michel’s train, stopping at every sleepy country halt in case Michel got off. He felt sure he was wasting his time, and that Michel was a decoy, but he had no alternative. Michel was his only lead. He was desperate.

Michel rode the train all the way back to Reims.

A doomy sense of impending failure and disgrace overwhelmed Dieter as he sat in a car beside a bombed building near the Reims station waiting for Michel to emerge. Where had he gone wrong? It seemed to him that he had done everything he could-but nothing had worked.

What if following Michel led nowhere? At some point, Dieter would have to cut his losses and interrogate the man. But how much time did he have? Tonight was the night of the full moon, but the English Channel was stormy again. The Allies might postpone the invasion-or they might decide to take their chances with the weather. In a few hours it might be too late.

Michel had come to the station this morning in a van borrowed from Philippe Moulier, the meat supplier, and Dieter looked around for it, but could not see it. He guessed the van had been left here for Flick Clairet to pick up. By now she might be anywhere within a radius of a hundred miles. He cursed himself for not setting someone to watch the van.

He diverted himself by considering how to interrogate Michel. The man’s weak point was probably Gilberte. Right now she was in a cell at the château, wondering what was going to happen to her. She would stay there until Dieter was quite sure he had finished with her; then she would be executed or sent to a camp in Germany. How could she be used to make Michel talk-and fast?

The thought of the camps in Germany gave Dieter an idea. Leaning forward, he said to his driver, “When the Gestapo send prisoners to Germany, they go by train, don’t they?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is it true that you put them in the kind of railway cars normally used for transporting livestock?”

“Cattle trucks, yes, sir, it’s good enough for those scum, communists and Jews and the like.”

“Where do they board?”

“Right here in Reims. The train from Paris stops here.”

“And how often do those trains run?”

“There’s one most days. It leaves Paris late in the afternoon and stops here around eight in the evening, if it’s on time.”

Before he could progress his idea further, Dieter saw Michel emerge from the station. Ten yards behind him in the crowd was Hans Hesse. They approached Dieter on the other side of the street.

Dieter’s driver started the engine.

Dieter turned in his seat to watch Michel and Hans.

They passed Dieter. Then, to Dieter’s surprise, Michel turned into the alley alongside the Café de la Gare.

Hans quickened his pace and turned the same corner less than a minute later.

Dieter frowned. Was Michel trying to shake off his tail?