CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
In the cafe de La Gare, near the railway station, Flick and Paul had a breakfast of ersatz coffee, black bread, and sausage with little or no meat in it. Ruby, Jelly, and Greta sat at a separate table, not acknowledging them. Flick kept an eye on the street outside.
She knew that Michel was in terrible danger. She had contemplated going to warn him. She could have gone to the Moulier place-but that would have played into the hands of the Gestapo, who must be following Michel in the hope that he would lead them to her. Even to phone the Moulier place would have risked betraying her hideout to a Gestapo eavesdropper at the telephone exchange. In fact, she had decided, the best thing she could do to help Michel was not to contact him directly. If her theory was right, Dieter Franck would let Michel remain at large until Flick was caught.
So she had left a message for Michel with Madame Laperriere. It read:
Michel-
I am sure you are under surveillance. The place we were at last night was raided after you left. You have probably been followed this morning. We will leave before you get here and make ourselves inconspicuous in the town center. Park the van near the railway station and leave the key under the driver's seat. Get a train to Marles. Shake off your shadow and come back.
Be careful-please!
– Flick
Now burn this.
It seemed good in theory, but she waited all morning in a fever of tension to see whether it would work.
Then, at eleven o'clock, she saw a high van draw up and park near the station entrance. Flick held her breath. On the side, in white lettering, she read Moulier amp; Fils-Viandes.
Michel got out, and she breathed again.
He walked into the station. He was carrying out her plan.
She looked to see who might be following him, but it was impossible. People arrived at the station constantly, on foot, on bicycles, and in cars, and any of them might have been shadowing Michel.
She remained in the cafe, pretending to drink the bitter, unsatisfying coffee substitute, keeping an eye on the van, trying to discover whether it was under surveillance. She studied the people and vehicles coming and going outside the station, but she did not spot anyone who might have been watching the van. After fifteen minutes, she nodded to Paul. They got up, picked up their cases, and walked out.
Flick opened the van door and got into the driver's seat. Paul got in the other side. Flick's heart was in her mouth. If this was a Gestapo trap, now would be the moment when they arrested her. She fumbled beneath her seat and found a key. She started the van.
She looked around. No one seemed to have noticed her. Ruby, Jelly, and Greta came out of the cafe. Flick jerked her head to indicate that they should get in the back.
She looked over her shoulder. The van was fitted out with shelves and cupboards, and trays for ice to keep the temperature down. Everything looked as if it had been well scrubbed, but there remained a faint, unpleasant odor of raw meat.
The rear doors opened. The other three women threw their suitcases into the van and clambered in after them. Ruby pulled the doors shut.
Flick put the gearshift into first and drove away.
"We did it!" Jelly said. "Thank gordon."
Flick smiled thinly. The hard part was still ahead.
She drove out of town on the road to Sainte-Cecile. She watched for police cars and Gestapo Citroens, but she felt fairly safe for the moment. The van's lettering announced its legitimacy. And it was not unusual for a woman to be driving such a vehicle, when so many Frenchmen were in labor camps in Germany-or had fled to the hills and joined the Maquis to avoid being sent to the camps.
Soon after midday they reached Sainte-Cecile. Flick noted the sudden miraculous quiet that always fell on French streets at the stroke of noon, as the people turned their attention to the first serious meal of the day. She drove to Antoinette's building. A pair of tall wooden doors, half-open, led to the inner courtyard. Paul leaped out of the van and opened the doors, Flick drove in, and Paul closed the doors behind her. Now the van, with its distinctive legend, could not be seen from the street.
"Come when I whistle," Flick said, and she jumped out. She went to Antoinette's door while the others waited in the van. Last time she had knocked on this door, eight days and a lifetime ago, Michel's aunt Antoinette had hesitated to answer, jumpy on account of the gunfire from the square, but today she came right away. She opened the door, a slim middle-aged woman in a stylish but faded yellow cotton dress. She looked blankly at Flick for a moment: Flick still had on the dark wig. Then recognition dawned. "You!" she said. A look of panic came over her face. "What do you want?"
Flick whistled to the others, then pushed Antoinette back inside. "Don't worry," she said. "We're going to tie you up so the Germans will think we forced you."
"What is this?" Antoinette said shakily.
"I'll explain in a moment. Are you alone?"
"Yes."
"Good."
The others came in and Ruby closed the apartment door. They went into Antoinette's kitchen. A meal was laid out on the table: black bread, a salad of shredded carrots, a heel of cheese, a wine bottle without a label. Antoinette said again, "What is this?"
"Sit down," Flick said. "Finish your lunch."
She sat down, but she said, "I can't eat."
"It's very simple," Flick said. "You and your ladies are not going to clean the chateau tonight… we are."
She looked baffled. "How will that happen?"
"We're going to send notes to each of the women on duty tonight, telling them to come here and see you before they go to work. When they arrive, we will tie them up. Then we will go to the chateau instead of them."
"You can't, you don't have passes."
"Yes, we do."
"How…?" Antoinette gasped. "You stole my pass! Last Sunday. I thought I had lost it. I got into the most terrible trouble with the Germans!"
"I'm sorry you got into trouble."
"But this will be worse-you're going to blow the place up!" Antoinette began to moan and rock. "They'll blame me, you know what they're like, we'll all be tortured."
Flick gritted her teeth. She knew that Antoinette could be right. The Gestapo might easily kill the real cleaners just in case they had had something to do with the deception. "We're going to do everything we can to make you look innocent," she said. "You will be our victims, the same as the Germans." All the same, there remained a risk, Flick knew.
"They won't believe us," Antoinette moaned. "We might be killed."
Flick hardened her heart. "Yes," she said. "That's why it's called a war."
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Marles was a small town to the east of Reims, where the railway line began its long climb into the mountains on its way to Frankfurt, Stuttgart, and Nuremberg. The tunnel just beyond the town carried a constant stream of supplies from the home country to the German forces occupying France. The destruction of the tunnel would starve Rommel of ammunition.
The town itself looked Bavarian, with half-timbered houses painted in bright colors. The town hall stood on the leafy square opposite the railway station. The local Gestapo chief had taken over the mayor's grand office and now stood poring over a map with Dieter Franck and a Captain Bern, who was in charge of the military guard on the tunnel.
"I have twenty men at each end of the tunnel and another group constantly patrolling the mountain," said Bern. "The Resistance would need a large force to overcome them."
Dieter frowned. According to the confession of the lesbian he had interrogated, Diana Colefield, Flick had started with a team of six women, including herself, and must now be down to four. However, she might have joined up with another group, or made contact with more French Resistance cadres in and around Marles. "They have plenty of people," he said. "The French think the invasion is coming."