Michel Déon - The Foundling's War

She snuggled up tighter.

Jean had gone back to Portugal twice and each time had found Urbano at the border, waiting for him. The young PIDE inspector made no attempt to conceal his surveillance of Jean and had become increasingly friendly.

‘You know,’ Urbano had said at their last meeting, ‘I think you’re rather brave. You’re running definite risks. You could be murdered on the way; no one would ever try to find out where the shot had come from. With me at your side you’re in less danger, so long as my government doesn’t arrest you, but, as you must know, I don’t only work for my government. It’s a matter of material necessity. Dr Salazar is a great man and he intends to keep our country out of the war. Having said that, he’s also tightfisted. His prime ministerial salary is just enough for him to live on because he has very few needs, and he feels the servants of the state ought to follow his example. So everyone moonlights. I’ve resigned myself to it, like everyone else. A foreign power that I shan’t name asks me for information. When that information doesn’t compromise my country’s own affairs, I provide it. My superiors close their eyes, probably because they do the same. So I’ve been ordered to find out why you come here, and it may be that I know, but because I like you I’m taking this opportunity to warn you. I think it unlikely that you’ll complete a fourth journey. You probably won’t make it to prison; you’ll be liquidated before you get there. Who will protest? Not the Germans, you can be sure. Nor the Vichy government, who’ll know nothing about it …’

They had had dinner at Peniche before reaching Lisbon after nightfall, and this time had eaten not cod but perfect rock lobsters and drunk a vinho verde from Minho that had stripped away some of Urbano’s reserve. Jean listened to him, careful not to give anything away. He had been lectured too often by Palfy and Julius to be unaware that a policeman, however charming, convivial and cultured, is still a policeman, and the innocent ways of picking up an indiscretion are infinite. Yet he did not dislike the Portuguese man and it would not have taken much to make him feel friendship for him, especially as Urbano was also a foundling, adopted by a family of minor civil servants. He had finished his schooling with the help of scholarships and learnt English and French on his own. His talents and intelligence had raised him in the ceremonial and complicated hierarchy of Portuguese bureaucracy. One day he would be someone, and he had no doubt of his future.

From the restaurant terrace they watched the fishing boats coming ashore on the tide. Oxen towed them clear of the water and women with baskets on their heads unloaded their catch in an extended Indian file lit by acetylene lamps placed on the white sand.

‘It’s true that I’ve taken risks,’ Jean said, ‘but I’m just the messenger in these transactions. If anyone wants to take me out, that won’t make any difference to the people running the show. But … I hear what you’re telling me and I’ll give it some thought.’

‘I haven’t made you angry?’

‘No, no, not in the slightest. You’re doing your job, I’m doing mine. I absolutely have to have money … for reasons that might make a jury weep, but not a secret service. So I’m taking the risk. I’m too much on my own to have any other choice.’

‘Is it for your parents?’

‘No. It’s for a woman I love, who the Germans arrested and tortured. They drove her half mad and I’ve got no other way to protect her and help her get better than by putting her in a nursing home where she’s safe.’

Urbano was thoughtful for a moment.

‘The rule of my profession is never to believe what people tell me, and I don’t know why I believe you. You trust me; well then, I shall trust you, Jean. You must settle your business tomorrow at the earliest possible opportunity and get away without delay. Don’t stay in Lisbon a minute longer than you have to. You’ll be picked up, and I shan’t be able to do anything for you. As soon as you leave the bank, call me from a public phone box on a number I’ll give you before I leave you. We’ll meet at a place I’ll tell you and I’ll find a way to drive you to Vila Franca de Xira, where you’ll be able to catch the express without being followed. I can’t do more than that …’

‘You’ll be losing a fat bonus.’

‘It’s too bad. There’ll be others. Lisbon is teeming with people with something to hide. Anyway, money isn’t everything for me.’

‘You’ve got no reason to behave like this towards me.’

‘Very true!’ Urbano conceded with a smile. ‘But I do a job I don’t enjoy every day of the week, so perhaps this evening I’d like to make amends to myself for the bad aspects of my life. You make a good hostage. So I’m not just a policeman, I also have a friend …’

This had happened at the end of May, shortly before the events we recounted in the previous chapter. Jean had taken the card Urbano had slipped him under the table. It could have been a trap; it was like tossing a coin. But the man from the PIDE had been as good as his word and Jean had found himself back in France safe and sound, with a warning that a fourth trip would not be tolerated. Palfy was unsurprised.

‘You were lucky, dear boy. I didn’t think you’d come back from the last trip.’

‘I’m thrilled by your honesty. I suppose you’d have let me rot in prison, if nothing worse happened?’

‘I warned you of the risks.’

Jean was reminded of the narrow margins within which he had to exist. The substantial sums he had put away in a numbered account were exactly what his life was worth. Without false modesty, he found the price derisory. He demanded to know the whole story. Palfy told him. For more than a year the Sicherheitsdienst had been producing counterfeit banknotes so perfect that even the Bank of England could not tell the difference. Somewhere in the Reich a printing press was operating. Envoys were selling the notes in Switzerland, Portugal and the United States, everywhere there was a free exchange rate. The funds thus acquired paid the SD’s foreign expenses. The Reich’s Finance Minister, Dr Schacht, although initially opposed to the operation because it lay outside the meticulous organisation of his own closed monetary system, was aware that he would be sidelined if he did not agree and had turned a blind eye on condition that there were no blunders. Palfy related all this with glee, since in his eyes it resembled an extraordinarily good joke. It filled the pockets of both intermediaries and sellers, while scarcely denting the already inflationary sterling exchange rate. Jean did not, strictly speaking, disapprove. In an appalling war from which he had been excluded it represented a tiny incident: spies and traitors being paid in funny money. In any case he had had no choice: he either accepted, or he let Claude die in hospital. He had absolved himself. It was an era of rotten morality. Bombing a defenceless town was a far greater crime. Neither Great Britain nor the United States appeared overly troubled by scruples. There were worse things than his racket. Even so, he would not go on. Palfy shrugged.

‘You’re putting yourself in a difficult position. For the sake of our friendship I shall try to extricate you. But if I’m not listened to, you’ll only have yourself to blame.’

‘The sake of our friendship? You’re weakening, Palfy!’

‘My life has changed greatly … love, you know …’

He was not being ironic. He was in love. It occurred to Jean that if he revealed the truth to Geneviève, she might no longer see her Constantin in the same light.

‘And what if I talked to “Maman” about this business?’