Madeleine's War (9 page)

“Nasty,” said someone.

“Yes,” said Duncan, “but although it was the truck that tipped Erich into the quarry in the first place, it was also the truck that saved his life.”

“How come?”

“The windows of the cab were left closed when the truck was abandoned. When it fell, the landslide covered the cab with a mass of stones and rubble and soil but, being metal, the truck withstood the weight, prevented Erich from being crushed
and
ensured that he had plenty of oxygen—for a number of hours anyway. Madeleine saw the back of the truck sticking out of the rubble and heard him shouting.”

“Where
is
the heroine of the hour?”

“She's having a bath, too.”

“With Erich? She should have some reward,” said someone, and the rest of the queue laughed.

It was more than three hours since Madeleine had yanked on the rope to indicate that she had found Erich and that he was still alive. I had set off a flare and then circumnavigated the quarry, with Katrine, using her torch and mine, until we found a section where there was a track down to the quarry floor.

After joining Madeleine, all three of us had shovelled the rubble away with our hands as best we could. In the cold night air we were soon sweating, but, after about an hour, the others had found us. It had taken all eight of us another hour and more to clear away the stones and soil and rubble. Some of the boulders were the size of two or three deer's heads.

Just as we were getting close to the cab of the truck, a sound filled the night air and Madeleine shouted, “Watch out!”

She turned, grabbed Katrine by the arms, and pulled her away. The smell of soil and dust filled my nostrils—another landslide had followed the first.

The night was dark but the moon was high. I rolled away from the noise just in time and stones and soil fell against my legs but no higher.

The rushing sound died as quickly as it had arisen.

I looked around. All the others were safe.

“Let's get a move on,” I said. “Before there's a third.”

We got Erich out and made it back to the Land Rovers without any further mishap. Since Madeleine and Katrine and I were particularly filthy after our exertions, and since Erich needed to be given plenty of space after his ordeal, my “team” climbed into the back of the vehicle, along with all the ropes and tools, where there were wooden benches over the wheels.

It wasn't exactly comfortable as the Land Rover began to buck on the winding road and, instinctively, I put my arm around Madeleine.

She responded by resting her head on my shoulder.

Almost without thinking, I turned and buried my lips in her hair.

It smelled of mud.

Back at the manse, Erich, Madeleine, and I had gone straight into the bathrooms. Craigie had gone off, muttering about it being “time for a treat”—and so here we were, in the queue for a bacon breakfast.

“There she is!” shouted someone, as Madeleine entered the dining room, her wild hair still wet from the bath.

Everyone clapped. A few whistled.

“Well done!”

“You can rescue me any time, miss.”

“Let her through. Come on, miss. You first. Craigie's done us proud.”

Madeleine smiled and worked her way through the gap in the line that had opened up.

She took some bacon and what looked like artificial scrambled egg, and went to sit at a table near the fire. I didn't wait in line but went and sat with her. I was hungry but she needed company after the night she'd had.

As I was sitting down, however, Erich entered the room. He looked spick and span, in a clean white shirt and slacks, as though he'd had a good night's sleep in his bed. You would never guess what he'd been through. He came directly across to Madeleine and me at the table and sat down next to Madeleine.

He held a packet in one hand. With the other, he reached for Madeleine's fingers and raised them to his lips.

As everyone in the room watched, he kissed the skin on her wrist.

“You saved my life,” he said softly. “This is for you. None of us is allowed much, in the way of personal possessions, but it
is
silver.”

He placed the packet he was holding on the table in front of Madeleine.

“No, Erich—” she began but he interrupted her.

“Take it,” he said, softly but urgently. “Take it, please. A few hours ago I thought I was going to die. You must let me thank you—it's only right. In the next few weeks either of us, or both of us, could be killed. I have to thank you now.

“I can't tell you what went through my mind in that truck. I once got locked in the crypt of the cathedral where I worked in Belgium. It was an accident, when some workmen cleared up for the day. Later that night
it poured with rain and the cellar where I was filled with several feet of water, rising all the time. Until I was rescued, I didn't know what was going to happen—the cellar was underground and the whole crypt could have filled with water. I was rescued after more than twenty-four hours but…small, underground, enclosed prisons are not…They are not my favourite places.”

He gestured to the packet.

“Please open it.”

Madeleine took back her hand and opened the package.

Inside was Erich's cigarette case, a small, elegant silver box that caught the sun shining in through the high windows.

“Erich,” breathed Madeleine. “I can't—”

“Yes, you can,” he said quickly. “I want you to have it. It's Belgian, so you can take it to France—it won't give you away. We'll all need cigarettes when we are in the field, and this will give you confidence, remind you of what you did here in Scotland, how you…Well, you know what you did. Whose life you saved.”

All the others were watching.

I could sense that Madeleine thought the gift too much, the cigarette case too valuable for what she had done. But she also knew that to refuse it would not…would not suit the mood of the moment with everyone watching.

So she smiled, raised it to her lips, kissed it, and then kissed Erich on the cheek.

“Thank you,” she said. “I shall treasure it, always.”

WE WERE BACK IN THE STABLES
on the far side of the manse yard. Once again, Duncan was leading the show that morning, while I looked on. The four recruits sat on wooden benches or leaned against the stall walls. The smell of horse was as strong as ever.

Between Duncan and the recruits was a metal frame with clothing on hangers, all the clothing the same shade of grey.

“No prizes for guessing what these are,” Duncan began. He took one hanger off the rail and held it up for everyone to see. “Wehrmacht uniforms, the genuine article captured by our people at some point in the recent past.”

He took the uniform jacket off the hanger. “Uniform recognition is a routine but nonetheless vital part of your training. We've found that firsthand contact with the material itself is the most efficient and vivid way to rub in this part of the course.”

He straightened his arms and shook the jacket. “Come on, Katrine; you try it on first. This is a
Standartenführer
's uniform, a colonel to you.” He grinned. “See what it feels like to be promoted, Captain Howard.”

Katrine stepped forward and slipped her arms into the sleeves of the jacket. It was, inevitably, far too big—her fingers just poked out at the end of the cuffs, and the two sides overlapped comically.

The others were laughing.

“Who's your tailor?” said Ivan. “So I can avoid him.”

“You next,” said Duncan to Erich.

He took another uniform from the rail. “This one is a
Rittmeister
, a company commander, with braid on its epaulettes—see? Erich, you try this one.”

Erich got to his feet and put his arms into the jacket. He saluted Madeleine. Everyone laughed again.

Yes, Duncan was right. There
was
something between those two. “Ivan, come on,” said Duncan. Holding out another jacket he said, “This one has double plaiting of the braids on the epaulettes…It's a field commander's uniform, a
Stabsoffizier
.”

Ivan put the uniform on and began to do up the buttons.

“Err…no,” he said quietly. “I think you'll find it's an
Oberstleutnant
uniform, a lieutenant colonel's jacket.”

“What?” said Duncan, momentarily flummoxed. Then, “Oh!” he said. “You're right. My mistake. I'm confusing these two, Madeleine has the
Stabsoffizier
uniform. Well done, Ivan, thank you for correcting me. As you can see, it's easy to—”

Ivan shrugged. “When you are playing blackjack in a casino, and you have what we call a shoe, there are sometimes as many four packs of cards in it. Sometimes, when they are shuffled the shuffling isn't always as complete as it might be, and for a while some cards are dealt in the same order as the time before. Some gamblers have amazing memories and can remember those sequences, or most of them. A good croupier has to do the same—otherwise the punters have an advantage for a while. You train your eye for detail, visual detail.”

“So have you memorized all officers' insignia?”

“Yes. It's easy for me.”

“And what else can you remember?”

“The layout and the letters of the one-time pads,” said Ivan. “The geography of northern France—all the towns in the right order. There has to be a visual element—for example, I can remember the faces of all the card sharps who came through Monte.”

Duncan turned to me. “That's a talent we may be able to use, sir.”

I nodded. “We may need you in interrogation, Ivan; I'll speak to my superiors about it. But let's get on now.”

Duncan turned back to the class.

“Now, back to you, Madeleine. This one has green and yellow flashes at the collar—it's a field commander's uniform, an
Oberstarzt
, as Ivan has correctly pointed out.”

Madeleine was no less swamped by her jacket than Katrine had been and the laughs started again.

“Enjoy yourselves,” said Duncan, laughing himself. “But remember,
this is not a game; you really do need to register these ranks—and you will be tested on it later, and you won't all have Ivan's memory. Now, take off the jackets you are wearing and try on some others. Remember, it's the flashes at the collar and the epaulettes that tell you the most.”

The recruits milled around, taking off and putting on the various jackets.

“In the field, you also need to know,” said Duncan, putting one jacket back on its hanger, “from the rank of the uniforms you see, what that rank implies for the number of troops that are likely to be in that particular area. It could be very important. For example, if you observe someone in a field officer's uniform, that is likely to mean—”

“Achtung! Achtung! Meine Damen und Herren. Achtung! Achtung!”

Duncan broke off, surprised.

We all turned to where the shouting was coming from.

Madeleine was standing on a chair. She had buttoned up her uniform and put on a German military cap, one of a number we also had, and now she held under her nose the end of a small black comb—a perfect impression of Adolf Hitler's moustache.

We fell silent.

She raised her right arm.

“Liberty ist Stunk,”
she shouted.

“Freisprach ist Stunk.”

Erich, the choirmaster, started humming a tune that I recognized but couldn't place.

The others also recognized what scene Madeleine was playing and they were laughing all over again and joining in.

“Wienerschnitzel und Sauerkraut!”
cried Ivan.

“Baloney,”
replied Katrine solemnly. They redoubled the laughing.

Madeleine had caught Charlie Chaplin's “Great Dictator” perfectly. The film had been on show for a couple of years by then.

They all went on speaking the gobbledygook, gibberish German that Chaplin used in the film for a little while longer, and then they joined in with Erich in humming the same tune.

“What
is
that?” I asked.

“The Prelude from Wagner's
Lohengrin
,” said Erich. “Chaplin thought Wagner was just as
Stunk
as Hitler. That's why he chose it as the score.”

Still laughing, Madeleine wound up the gibberish and got down off the chair.

Katrine went up to her and hugged her. “Brilliant,” she said. “I'm glad you are on our side.”

THAT NIGHT AT DINNER
, we were all seated at the same table, as had become our habit. There was no talk of the course—everyone had had enough of shop talk throughout the day—and the conversation ranged over a wide selection of subjects—sport, theatre, the BBC's music coverage, American films, the weather inevitably.

I looked around me.

“Where's Madeleine?” I asked Katrine.

She shook her head, sheepishly I thought. “I don't know.”

“And Duncan?”

She shook her head again.

I sipped my drink.

Just then there was a commotion at the other end of the room and the main double doors swung open.

From beyond the doors, out of sight, there was a weird kind of whirring sound, a sort of heavy breathing, and one or two moans. Then, all at once, a very plaintive version of “Happy Birthday” was struck up, and into the room marched Duncan, surrounded—that was the only word—by a set of bagpipes. He was blowing into the tube—I didn't know its technical name—and squeezing the bag with his elbows. In no time the wailing sound filled the dining room, bouncing off the walls, disturbing the water in our drinking glasses, and even rattling the cutlery.

Behind him was…what can best be described as a cascade of sparks, falling from a plate held by Madeleine. She held the cake—for that is what must have been below the sparks—high in the air and she was singing “Happy Birthday to Ivan” at the top of her voice.

As they advanced through the room, everyone joined in, except for Ivan, who looked both pleased and embarrassed.

Duncan came to a stop right in front of Ivan, as Madeleine ran out of words. The sound of the bagpipes died—like an animal in pain—and he stood to one side as Madeleine laid the sparkling cake in front of Ivan.

He stared at the sparkles, and then at Madeleine.

“How did you know it was my birthday, and where did you get those…whatever they are?”

“This is an incendiary device we have tampered with,” said Madeleine. “It's been neutered, sort of,” she grinned, “by Duncan. As for your
birthday, that's easy. You use the numerical version—twenty-one, three, fourteen—in your lock in the locker room. March 21, 1914—so I worked out that you're exactly thirty today. It's a big birthday. Did you hope to get away with it?”

“No, no. I didn't think anyone would be interested. I'm touched.”

“Craigie made the cake,” Madeleine said. “Cut it carefully, there's a surprise inside.”

Looking mystified, Ivan stood up and picked up a knife. He stuck it uncertainly into the middle of the cake, which by now had stopped fizzling. He cut until he recognised a resistance to the knife. Now he cut
around
the shape.

Next, he picked up a spoon.

We were all watching. Whatever was inside was going to be as big a surprise for us as for him. What on earth had Madeleine been up to?

He dug into the cake with the spoon. What he came up with was solid, a rectangle or oblong, about half an inch thick.

He smeared away the covering of cake, to reveal a paper wrapping.

He took that off.

Whatever was inside was carefully encased in waxed paper, entirely untouched by the treatment it had received.

“I know what this is,” said Ivan. “It's a pack of cards. I can recognize cards a mile off.”

“Well done,” said Madeleine softly. “But what
sort
of cards?”

He undid the waxed paper wrapping. And took out the cards. He handled them expertly, as only he could, shuffling them in his fingers.

“There's something very special about these cards,” said Madeleine. “See if you can spot what it is.”

Ivan inspected the cards in his hands. “All the backs are the same, that's normal. Views of the highlands and islands, I suppose. Let me look at the faces.”

He turned the cards over and fanned them out. We all looked on.

“They seem quite normal to me.” He flicked the cards through his fingers as only a professional could do.

“All the royal cards look normal, the Jacks are a bit elaborate…” He carried on playing with the cards.

“Hold on, what's this? A blank face?” He looked at Madeleine. “Is this what you mean? A card with nothing on it?”

She nodded and smiled. “Yes, have you not heard of this?”

Ivan shook his head, clearly mystified.

Madeleine was delighted. “Craigie the cook told me. It's something every professional croupier should have—I found them in Drumlanrig. A proper Scottish pack of cards has no nine of diamonds—”

“Why on earth not? I don't get it,” cried Ivan. “What's the point?”

“Well,” said Madeleine, “there are several explanations but the best version, I think, is the one that says that, in the days of James VI, the crown of Scotland was robbed of nine diamonds and, because no one owned up to the theft, the king made his subjects pay for the missing jewels out of their taxes. In that way, the nine of diamonds became known as the ‘curse of Scotland,' and all Scottish playing cards from those days have no nine of diamonds, just a plain face. It's a nice touch, don't you think? I thought that, as a professional card player, you'd like a Scottish set of cards. As a memento of your time here.”

Ivan took a step forward. I thought he was going to embrace Madeleine but he was clearly too shy. “Maddie, you are a treasure.” He held up the cards. “That was—this is—a wonderful thought, a real memento of this place. I don't know how many sets of playing cards I have but this will go to the top of my list, never out of my sight for long. I…I only wish I had nine diamonds to give you.”

Madeleine laughed. “There's a thought. But these are just playing cards, Ivan, hiding in a cake. You can take them to France and no one will know what they mean, just you and us.”

Ivan looked at me.

“Do you give us any memento, after we finish the course? Any sign that we have been here?”

I shook my head. “Think about it. If you were found with something like that, in France, it could sign your death warrant.”

He nodded. “I suppose you're right.” He waved the pack of cards. “But this, this is something I shall always have with me. There's something imperfect about this pack. One card is missing. I like that. It tells us not to expect too much. In its way, it's comforting.”

He turned back to Madeleine. “I don't know whether you intended to give me something comforting, but you did. You, above all, will be the person I remember from this course.”

WE STOPPED AT THE TOP
of the hill. Ahead of us the tarmac sloped gently down the valley side to meet a small river. Off to the right stood a
cluster of stone buildings with tall chimneys, like huge sticks of chalk. Blue smoke drifted from their tops.

“That's Benkillan,” I said, pointing to the mountain opposite. As we looked, cloud shadows swept over the brown and purple shoulder.

“Let's rest for a while.” I dismounted from my bicycle and Madeleine did the same.

It was about ten days after the recruits' experiment in living off the land and just a couple of days after Madeleine's wicked impression of Adolf Hitler and her rendering of “Happy Birthday” to Ivan. The recruits' progress along the course was steady. We had by now covered explosives, other sabotage techniques—how to immobilize vehicles, for instance—more radio transmission, using both one-time pads and their poetry codes, the principles of blowing up boats, should any of them be sent to harbours, the promised political instruction on the relationship between communists and Gaullists, as I had warned Madeleine, and the organisation of circuits for maximum security.