Jackdaws

“She attacked a Militian, and three of my bright young people happened to witness it. They had the presence of mind to capture the culprit, who was armed with a Colt automatic.”

“Did you say ‘she’? The agent is a woman?”

“Yes.”

That settled it. The Jackdaws were in Sainte-Cécile. The château was their target.

Dieter said, “Weber, listen to me. I think she is part of a team of saboteurs intending to attack the château.”

“They tried that before,” Weber said. “We gave them a hiding.”

Dieter controlled his impatience with an effort. “Indeed you did, so they may be more sly this time. May I suggest a security alert? Double the guards, search the château, and question all non-German personnel in the building.”

“I have given orders to that effect.”

Dieter was not sure he believed that Weber had already thought of a security alert, but it did not matter, so long as he did so now.

Dieter briefly considered rescinding his instructions about Gilberte and Michel but decided not to. He might well need to interrogate Michel before the night was over.

“I will return to Sainte-Cécile immediately,” he told Weber.

“As you wish,” Weber said casually, implying he could manage perfectly well without Dieter’s assistance.

“I need to interrogate the new prisoner.”

“I have already begun. Sergeant Becker is softening her up.”

“For God’s sake! I want her sane and able to speak.”

“Of course.”

“Please, Weber, this is too important for mistakes. I beg you to keep Becker under control until I get there.”

“Very well, Franck. I will make sure he doesn’t overdo it.”

“Thank you. I’ll be there as fast as I can.” Dieter hung up.

CHAPTER 51

FLICK PAUSED AT the entrance to the great hall of the château. Her pulse was racing and there was a cold sensation of fear in her chest. She was in the lions’ den. If she were captured, nothing could save her.

She surveyed the room rapidly. Telephone switchboards had been installed in precise parade-ground rows, incongruously modern against the faded grandeur of the pink-and-green walls and the pudgy cherubs painted on the ceiling. Bundled cables twisted across the checkerboard marble floor like uncoiled ropes on the deck of a ship.

There was a hubbub of chatter from forty operators. Those nearest glanced at the new arrivals. Flick saw one girl speak to her neighbor and point to them. The operators were all from Reims and the surrounding district, many from Sainte-Cécile itself, so they would know the regular cleaners and would realize the Jackdaws were strangers. But Flick was gambling that they would say nothing to the Germans.

She oriented herself quickly, bringing to mind the plan Antoinette had drawn. The bombed west wing, to her left, was disused. She turned right and led Greta and Jelly through a pair of tall paneled doors into the east wing.

One room led to another, all palatial reception rooms full of switchboards and equipment racks that buzzed and clicked as numbers were dialed. Flick did not know whether the cleaners normally greeted the operators or passed them in silence: the French were great people for saying good morning, but this place was run by the German military. She contented herself with smiling vaguely and avoiding eye contact.

In the third room, a supervisor in German uniform sat at a desk. Flick ignored her, but the woman called out, “Where is Antoinette?”

Flick answered without pausing in her stride. “She’s coming.” She heard the tremor of fear in her own voice and hoped the supervisor had not noticed.

The woman glanced up at the clock, which said five past seven. “You’re late.”

“Very sorry, Madame, we’ll get started right away.” Flick hurried into the next room. For a moment she listened, heart in her mouth, for an angry shout calling her back, but none came, and she breathed easier and walked on, with Greta and Jelly close behind.

At the end of the east wing was a stairwell, leading up to the offices or down to the basement. The Jackdaws were headed for the basement, eventually, but first they had preparations to make.

They turned left and moved into the service wing. Following Antoinette’s directions, they found a small room where cleaning materials were stored: mops, buckets, brooms, and garbage bins, plus the brown cotton overall coats the cleaners had to wear on duty Flick closed the door.

“So far, so good,” said Jelly.

Greta said, “I’m so scared!” She was pale and trembling. “I don’t think I can go on.”

Flick gave her a reassuring smile. “You’ll be fine,” she said. “Let’s get on with it. Put your ordnance into these cleaning buckets.”

Jelly began to transfer her explosives into a bucket, and after a moment’s hesitation Greta followed suit. Flick assembled her submachine gun without its rifle butt, reducing the length by a foot, to make it easier to conceal. She fitted the noise suppressor and flicked the switch for single-shot firing. When using the silencer, the chamber had to be reloaded manually before each shot.