J. Janes - Clandestine

‘Then when we have her, we’ll use her to get this one.’

In the foyer of the villa where Giselle Le Roy and Oona Van der Lynn were being held, there was a telephone, and as two gestapistes francais joined him, this SS Captain Oster finished reading the letter and saw the stamp and signature. Pausing to reconsider something, he finally said, ‘Fraulein Schellenberger, this states that they are to be sent to Stutthof KZ, yet my instructions specifically state their final destination is Mauthausen.’

There was only one way to handle this. ‘By whose order?’

‘Kriminalrat Ludin.’

‘But is an order from the Reichssicherheitshauptamtchef to be countermanded by anyone other than the Fuhrer?’

‘ Ach , of course not, but always we must check to see if a mistake has been made. Einen Moment . I will telephone Gestapo Boemelburg. Your papers, please.’

Now what were they to do-shoot him, shoot the other two and the cook-housekeeper, then search for still others?

‘Ihre Papiere, Fraulein.’

‘Entschuldigen Sie, bitte!’

‘Dank.’

But Herr Oster didn’t use the telephone here. Instead, he started shy; for another.

‘Zum Teufel, Haupsturmfuhrer,’ called out Emmi, ‘these two bitches are not the only ones we have to collect tonight. This is Neuilly, isn’t it and still the home of far too many?’

The tall one with the shoulders and the years, having stayed closer to the door and exit, had at last spoken. ‘Then give me the order papers for those as well, Fraulein.’

‘You have no authority to even look at those,’ swore Emmi. ‘Don’t overstep.’

‘Surely Herr Kaltenbrunner’s letter is sufficient,’ said Anna-Marie, ‘or is it your wish that the report I must file should fully detail the reason for such a delay?’

These two … Both wore the uniforms of signals auxiliaries in the Wehrmacht. Neither were SS or from the police unless undercover, and the younger one who had been doing all the talking until the other’s outburst, had forgotten to snap her handbag closed, Madame Decour having indicated this with but the slightest of nods. ‘Herr Boemelburg will be at Maxim’s. It will take but a moment for a waiter to bring him a telephone or lead him to one.’

Silently, as if needing replacements, felt Anna-Marie, that cook-housekeeper had returned to gazing at her slippers, while the two Parisians were simply watchful and Oona Van der Lynn and Giselle Le Roy sat side by side knowing only that Drancy awaited. Packed and ready, their small suitcases were next to the door, and yes, Mademoiselle Le Roy looked as if she had recently fallen or been badly beaten. But what was to happen when the real truck arrived and would it find Arie’s still in the drive?

Unbearable, this waiting was an agony, but when Oster briskly returned, he snapped her papers into her hand, brought his heels together, saluted and said, ‘Fraulein Schellenberger, Alle ist korrekt. ’

But was it? Had he even used the phone or had he just had a good look through her papers and noted down the essentials?

He would keep the letter-he had to, felt Anna-Marie, wishing that she had first considered the ramifications of their doing this when the chief inspector had asked it of her.

To the city and the darkness there was, felt St-Cyr, but thin bicycle traffic and an occasional car, while along the adjacent pavements many of those who remained hurried to the metro or to closer destinations, or waited for an autobus au gazogene that likely would never show up because the Occupier had the use of most of them.

On the rue Daru there were several gasoline-powered cars parked ahead alongside Chez Kornilov, while across the street, the artists’ entrance to the Salle Pleyel had lost its wire-caged little blue light, probably to theft, Concierge Figeard being unable to attend to it.

Behind the wheel, Hermann was far too quiet. ‘Easy, mon vieux . Take another puff.’

‘It’s your pipe!’

‘But it might help and that is what I believe Arie Beekhuis thought when he suggested she give me that tobacco.’

‘You made a deal. You told her that if she would attempt to rescue Oona and Giselle, we would arrange for the sale of that kilo of boart and see that an FTP equipe got its 45 million francs but in fivers! Are you crazy, after what I’ve just been through?’

Somehow he was going to have to get Hermann’s mind off what had happened. Four of Kleiber’s men had been torn to pieces shy; by the blast, others badly burned. ‘You know as well as I that the SD and others, especially purchasing agencies such as Munimin-Pimetex use notes like these to purchase quantities of things and pay off others. Had we a quartz lamp, its UV light would, I’m all but certain, show the bluish-grey of the false, whereas the real would be soft-blue. It’s a preferred currency, mon vieux . No one wants Reichsmark or francs if they can be paid in these.’

Though the Americans had, in mid-1941, suspended international trade in dollars, those, too, would be equally useful.

‘And with the British naval blockade, Hermann, the chances of any of them ever reaching the Bank of England for checking are minimal, and what others might suspect, if indeed they ever did, won’t matter since the notes would immediately be used to buy the tangible and SD-Berlin must have plenty of them.’

The crinkle was good, felt Kohler, a sound so distinctive, bankers the world over used it to identify the real.

‘The sheen is also perfect,’ he said, having briefly flashed a light. ‘It also has the deckle edges of handmade paper.’

‘And the ink is clearly Frankfurt black, as the Bank of England would have used, the pigment made from German charcoal, from grapevines that had been boiled in linseed oil.’

This wasn’t good; it was terrible. ‘The SD must be having them made in one of the Konzentrationslager . Few will know of it, certainly not two dumb Schweinebullen like us. If we do what she has asked, we leave ourselves wide open to knowing of something that is so secret, only Kaltenbrunner and a few others know anything of it.* And that can only mean, even though they already have enough on us, Kleiber will be sure to mark us down for the piano wire, and if not him, Heinrich bloody Ludin or Kaltenbrunner himself.’

They did have reason to worry. ‘We still have to try.’

‘She might not have been able to do anything-had you even considered that?’

‘Yes, but how else are we to solve this investigation and negotiate a way out of it not just for ourselves, but for Oona and Giselle, if rescued, and for Gabrielle? A murderer who is murdered but with the help of a victim like that? Diamonds that do exist and others that may or may not, but will have to remain hidden if they do? Surely she deserves our continued help.’

‘You sound like a saint but have forgotten to mention the robbery of that van and that Sergei Lebeznikov took his son and that girl to this very restaurant.’

‘I am merely saying that we have no choice. We need to find and speak to Rheal Lachance and Emile Girandoux before Kleiber or Ludin try to stop us. Besides, it’s late and this place has a reputation.’

Pungent with the collective aromas of food, perfume and tobacco smoke, Chez Kornilov was also loud, and through the din came the sounds of cutlery and plates, the shouts of white-bloused waiters wearing peaked peasant caps, colourful sashes about the waist and trousers tucked into brown leather riding boots. Crossed cavalry swords, Cossack uniforms with bandoliers, beautiful carpets and displays of knives adorned the walls, with brass samovars seemingly everywhere. And on the wall facing all who entered, a large colourful map showed Saint Petersburg and the Bay of Neva and river of the same-Leningrad to the Bolsheviks, and no mention of the endless siege being briefly lifted on 18 January of this year, the population dying at a rate of 20,000 a day.*