Ken Follett - Jackdaws

Dieter realized he had only seconds to get away.

The door to the Interview Room opened and Flick Clairet stood there holding a submachine gun.

She wore a dark wig that had fallen askew to reveal her own blonde hair beneath. Flushed, breathing hard, a wild look in her eyes, she was beautiful.

If he had had a gun in his hand at that moment, he would have mowed her down in blind rage. She would be an incomparable prize if captured alive, but he was so enraged and humiliated by her success and his own failure that he could not have controlled himself.

But she had the gun.

At first she did not see Dieter but stared at the dead body of her comrade. Dieter's hand moved inside his jacket. Then she lifted her gaze and met his eyes. He saw recognition dawn on her face. She knew who he was. She knew whom she had been fighting for the past nine days. There was a light of triumph in her eyes. But he also saw the thirst for revenge in the twist of her mouth, and she raised the Sten gun and fired.

Dieter ducked back into the torture chamber as her bullets chipped fragments of brick off the wall. He drew his Walther P38 automatic pistol, thumbed the safety lever to the fire position, and pointed it at the doorway, waiting for Flick to come through.

She did not appear.

He waited a few seconds, then risked a look.

Flick had gone.

He dashed across the burning Interview Room, threw open the door, and stepped into the corridor. Flick and another woman were running toward the far end. As he raised his gun, they jumped over a group of uniformed bodies on the floor. He aimed at Flick; then a hot pain burned his arm. He cried out and dropped his gun. He saw that his sleeve was on fire. He tore off his jacket.

When he looked up again, the women had gone.

Dieter picked up his pistol and went after them.

As he ran, he smelled fuel. There was a leak-or perhaps the saboteurs had holed a pipe. Any second now, the basement would explode like a giant bomb.

But he might still catch Flick.

He ran out and started up the stairs.

In the torture chamber, Sergeant Becker's uniform started to smolder.

The heat and the smoke brought him back to consciousness and he cried for help, but no one heard.

He struggled against the leather straps that bound him, as so many of his victims had struggled in the past, but, like them, he was helpless.

A few moments later, his clothes burst into flame, and he began to scream.

Flick saw Dieter coming up the stairs after her with his gun in his hand. She was afraid that if she stopped and turned to take aim at him, he would be able to shoot first. She decided to run rather than stand and fight.

Someone had activated the fire alarm, and a klaxon blared throughout the chateau as she and Ruby raced through the switchboard rooms. All the operators left their stations and crowded to the doors, so that Flick found herself in a crush. The crowd would be making it difficult for Dieter to get a shot at her or Ruby, but the other women were slowing them down. Flick punched and kicked ruthlessly to get people out of her way.

They reached the front entrance and ran down the steps. In the square, Flick could see Moulier's meat van, backed up to the chateau gates with its engine running and its rear doors open. Paul stood beside it, staring anxiously through the iron railings. Flick thought he was the best thing she had ever seen.

However, as the women poured out of the building, two guards were directing them into the vineyard on the west side of the courtyard, away from the parked cars. Flick and Ruby ignored their waved instructions and ran for the gates. When the soldiers saw Flick's submachine gun, they reached for their weapons.

A rifle appeared in Paul's hands. He aimed through the railings. Two shots rang out, and both guards fell.

Paul threw open the gates.

As Flick dashed through the gateway, shots whistled over her head and hit the van: Dieter was firing.

Paul jumped into the front of the van.

Flick and Ruby threw themselves into the back.

As the van pulled away, Flick saw Dieter turn toward the parking lot, where his sky-blue car stood waiting.

At that moment, down in the basement, the fire reached the fuel tanks.

There was a deep underground boom like an earthquake. The parking lot erupted, gravel and earth and slabs of concrete flying into the air. Half the cars parked around the old fountain were overturned. Huge stones and chunks of brickwork rained down on the rest. Dieter was thrown back across the steps. The gas pump soared into the air, and a gout of flame spurted from the ground where it had stood. Several cars caught fire, and their gas tanks began to explode, one by one. Then the van left the square, and Flick could see no more.

Paul drove at top speed out of the village. Flick and Ruby bounced on the metal floor of the van. It dawned slowly on Flick that they had accomplished their mission. She could hardly believe it. She thought of Greta and Jelly, both dead, and of Diana and Maude, dead or dying in some concentration camp, and she could not feel happy. But she felt a savage satisfaction as she saw again in her mind the blazing equipment chamber and the exploding parking lot.

She looked at Ruby.

Ruby grinned at her. "We did it," she said.

Flick nodded.

Ruby put her arms around Flick and hugged her hard.

"Yes," Flick said. "We did it."

Dieter picked himself up off the ground. He felt bruised all over, but he could walk. The chateau was ablaze, and the parking lot was a shambles. The women were screaming and panicking.

He stared at the carnage all around. The Jackdaws had succeeded in their mission. But it was not over yet.

They were still in France. And if he could capture and interrogate Flick Clairet, he could yet turn defeat into victory. Sometime tonight, she must be planning to meet a small plane, in a field not far from Reims. He had to find out where and when.

And he knew who would tell him.

Her husband.

DIETER SAT ON THE platform at the Reims railway station. French railway men and German troops watched with him, standing patiently under the harsh lights. The prison train was late, hours late, but it was coming, he had been assured of that. He had to wait for it. He had no other cards to play.

His heart was full of rage. He had been humiliated and defeated by a girl. Had she been a German girl, he would have been proud of her. He would have called her brilliant and brave. He might even have fallen in love with her. But she belonged to the enemy, and she had outwitted him at every turn. She had killed Stephanie, she had destroyed the chateau, and she had escaped. But he would catch her yet. And when he did, she would suffer tortures worse than her most terrifying imaginings-then she would talk.

Everyone talked.

The train rolled in a few minutes after midnight.

He noticed the stink even before it came to a halt. It was like the smell of a farmyard but disgustingly human.

There was an assortment of rail cars, none of them designed for passengers: goods wagons, cattle trucks, even a mail car with its narrow windows broken. Each was crammed with people.

The livestock wagons had high wooden sides pierced by slats to permit observation of the animals. The prisoners nearest put their arms through the slats, hands open with palms upward, begging. They asked to be let out, they pleaded for something to eat, but most of all they begged for water. The guards looked on impassively: Dieter had given instructions that the prisoners were to have no relief at Reims tonight.

He had two Waffen SS corporals with him, guards from the chateau, both good marksmen. He had extracted them from the shambles at Sainte-Cecile, trading on his authority as a major. He turned to them now and said, "Bring Michel Clairet."