Breakthrough (The Red Gambit Series) (88 page)

“I understand.”

Nodding at the German Colonel
,
‘Général now of course’
, he stopped himself from engaging Knocke in conversation and, o
nce again businesslike, De Lattre turned to Molyneux and called him to attention.

“General, you are now confirmed as Général de Corps D’Armée, and commander of the Legion Corps D’Assault.”

The Army Commander waited whilst one of his staff
appeared
on cue, removing Molyneux’s three-star epaulettes, before stepping forward and placing the new four-star versions in place.

De Lattre formally announced, all the time remembering how De Gaulle had forced the issue.

“You have been entrusted with a splendid f
ighting m
achine. Use it wisely General.”

He stepped forward, grasping the officer to him for a touch of each cheek
,
by way of congratulation.

No-one heard the whispered comment.

“Break it and I will break you
,
Molyneux.”

De Lattre stepped back and exchanged formal salutes, all the time his eyes boring into Molyneux’s, wanting to see some recognition of his concerns, as well as seeking some answers to his questions, but finding nothing of note within.

His mind was suddenly made up and he initiated his plan.

“I am leaving a number of my officers to assist you. Colonel Benoit
Plummer
will be your Chief of Staff.”

From the back of the crowd stepped a bemedalled officer wearing the insignia of the Regiment de Marche du Tchad, a regiment now lying dead across southern Bavaria, once part of the destroyed 2nd French Armoured Division.

The man bore the pain of his loss stoically, and welcomed the chance to serve with such a fine formation as the Legion Corps.

He also had a number of other assets that would serve the Legion well in the months to come.

He was extremely competent, highly experienced, and,
probably
more
import
antly, had the ear of De Lattre. T
hey
had been
friends since birth, having both enjoyed their childhoods
in the sleepy
French commune of Mouilleron-en-Pareds.

Finally, his credentials were impeccable, his full name being Benoit Hugues Kelly Clemenceau-Plummer, the grandson of Georges Clemenceau, ex-Prime Minister of France and Conqueror of Germany in the 14-18 War.

De Lattre
was introduced
to all the officers present and engaged in small talk, enjoying a sample of the Legion’s coffee. His own
staff
mixed in with those of the Legion Corps, officers from the First Army keen to hear about the recent victory.

When he
took his leave,
he was confident
that the Legion Corps had the
very
best of leadership,
with the exception of
the man
foisted on him from above. He also knew
that Molyneux would be under clo
se scrutiny every waking minute, and that the man watching him had a very special power that would be used wisely, if it proved necessary.

As
the
entourage left in De Lattre’s wake, Kowalski caught the eye of his prize spy.

Nothing was said
,
but much passed between them in that millisecond, Kowalski breaking the contact and moving
swiftly
to ensure his place in the cavalcade. Lavalle caught a glimpse of the man as he left, seeking out Knocke
,
and
finding
that the German had seen him too.

A ‘Deux’ minder
,
immaculately turned out in the uniform of an officer of the Algerian Spahis,
casually followed Kowalski outside
,
where another agent gunned the motor of the military Citroen, ready to take the ‘Polish’ Major back to Army Headquarters.

Knocke and Lavalle stood together in the window of the operations room,
studying
the agent
’s
depart
ure
, unable to recognise who was watching him
,
but knowing that the watcher was there none the less.

Their train of thought was interrupted by a polite cough, the noise emanating from the throat of the door guard Corporal intent on attracting Knocke’s attention.

“Sir, an officer gave me this to give to you, he forgot to do so when in here.”

The man offered up an envelope marked for his consumption, and decorated with ‘eyes only’ markings, some of whose ‘O’s’ were solid rather than hollow, an indicator of the sender and the nature of its content.

“Thank you. Your name and that of your fellow please
,
Caporal?”

“Caporal Jacquet, Sir, and he is Private Humbert. 3rd Compagnie, 7th Regiment du Marche, Tannenberg, Sir.”

Knocke silently sought Lavalle’s permission to continue, and it was given with a satisfied smile.

“I shall make sure your commander gets my full report, together with that of General Lavalle’s here, endorsing your promotion to Sergent and that of Humbert’s to Caporal, effective immediately, courtesy of General De Lattre. Congratulations
,
Sergent Jacquet. Dismissed.”

Slightly confused at the heavyweight names that had
just
taken an interest in his well-being
, Jacquet threw up a swift salute before retreating speedily, conscious that
an
officer’s goodwill could evaporate as quickly as it distilled.

The smile
s disappeared from both
officers’
faces, the envelope suddenly weighing heavy in Knocke’s hand.

“My office?”

The question remained unanswered, both men moving quickly to the privacy of Lavalle’s first floor suite.

Opening the door
,
they found Molyneux ensconced, already relieved of his tunic, enjoying a glass of claret with a splendid lunch, laid out on the exquisite marble-topped table.

Lavalle noticed two junior officers placing familiar items in a trunk.

“I expect you to give me the courtesy of knocking before you enter my room
,
Lavalle.”

“Apologies, My General.
I had not realised that I was no longer the resident. I shall remove my items immediately.”

“Excellent. Now
,
please leave me in peace.”

The two juniors threw a last handful of items on top of the pile
, and
the two senior men stooped to pick up the trunk.

A small sound from Molyneux indicated his
obvious
disgust that they should perform such
manual
labours themselves, the disdain clear on his face as they took their leave.

RSM V
ernais strode around the corner and stopped in his tracks, both amused and perturbed by the surreal vision of
two of
his leaders dragging a large trunk with
various
possessions poking out from under the
half-closed
lid.

Keeping his thoughts to himself, he beckoned his men forward and, in his eyes, the officers were replaced by more suitable porters.

“Where to, Sirs?”

“I think it will have to be your private den, Major Vernais.”

For a moment Vernais considered a bluster
,
but
he already knew that
,
in Lavalle
,
he had an officer who k
new more than he had a right to. A
pparently
including the fact that he and his cronies had set aside a bedroom for their own use as a private drinking parlour, amongst other things.

“As you wish, Sir.”

“Room one-one-four please
,
Legionnaires,” the simple words meaning so much to Lavalle as he saw the reaction on his senior Warrant Officer’s face.

Smiling, he confided in Vernais.

“Just until I can get permanently settled somewhere else, Vernais.
Then you can have your den back.”

Turning to follow the trun
k, Lavalle had second thoughts.

“Major
Vernais
, will you please locate Commandant de Montgomerie
,
and ask him to join us in one-one-four immediately please.”

Acknowledging, Vernais went in hunt of the intelligence officer, all the time part of his brain working out where he could find an alternative venue with similar comforts to the recently requisitioned room.

Knocke waited until De Montgomerie arrived before opening the envelope.

Apart from the
methodology of exchange with and
contact details of a baker in
Baden-Baden
, there were also
straight-forward
requests for military information.

And a grainy picture of t
wo girls called Greta and Magda
,
stood in front of an unknown Major in NKVD uniform.

What Kno
cke said was as much of a
surprise
as the way he said it, his voice taking on a sinister edge
,
not heard before by brother officer
s
.

“
I know where that is
.”

“
Are they
your dau
ghters
,
Ernst?”

Lavalle enquired
carefully
, disturbed by the sea change in his friend.

Nodding sharply, Knocke looked up triumphantly.

“I know this place.”

He brought the image closer, drinking in the peripherals more
than the daughters he so missed, and the hated uniform in the background.

And then the penny dropped.

“
Yes Christophe, they are my daughters.” He held up the photograph for both men to see, “
And they are stood in front of
the
old
G
asthaus
in
Fischausen
.”

Fischausen, soon to be renamed Primorsk, had been virtually destroyed in the April fighting, the few surviving inhabitants moved on elsewhere.

The location provided the NKVD with the perfect hiding place, away from day to day public scrutiny.

The old
guest
house,
away from the main area of fighting
, had escaped damage, and was used to house the three ‘prisoners’, as well as the personal security detail.

The large
building
nearby provided warm and dry quarters for the thirty man NKVD guard force, charged with keeping the nosey at distance and ‘disappearing’ those who got too close.

Across the road from the Gasthaus, the
relatively
undamaged doctor’s residence and surgery proved suitable accommodation for the two NKVD officers.

Other
more distant
eyes soon turned towards Fischausen, appreciating that its strength was also a weakness.

The thick curtains were drawn
,
and only a single table lamp salvaged the
Victorian
room from darkness.

The single occupant
, relaxing with a modest single malt,
had long ago switched off the radio, tiring of
the new BBC Light programme,
returning to
the desk to
finish the last of his work before heading to his
London
home.

At least that was
the
plan, which did not survive the urgent telephone call he received.

Placing his pen carefully in the holder
,
he lifted the receiver.

“Petrie.”

Had another person been in the room they would have witnessed a metamorphosis, Petrie’s gaze becoming hardened, his free hand stroking his moustache into place.

“Bring it up immediately
,
Jones.”

He gently replaced the receiver and waited, estimating the time it would take the duty officer to make it from the decoding room to his office.