Operation Kingfisher (13 page)

Similar thoughts were going through Christine’s mind, but one predominated; if they were in the hands of the
Maquis
they were presumably being taken to their camp. And that was where Cyrano would be. Cyrano would vouch for them and they would
be set free. She clung to that thought as the truck bumped and swayed. Face down and unable to steady themselves, their heads were banged against the metal floor every time the vehicle hit a bump and before long, the pain in Christine’s bound arms became almost unbearable. Luke groaned as they hit a deep pothole and she could hear herself whimpering. She bit down on the filthy rag in her mouth and forced herself to be silent.

At last, the truck swung round in a tight curve and came to a standstill. There was another agonising wait, and then the sound of the rear doors being opened. Hands grabbed them and dragged them out, their feet were untied and they were shoved roughly forwards, stumbling on numbed legs. Christine was dimly aware that the ground she trod on was soft; grass or leaf mould, not paving stones, and something about the quality of the sounds around her indicated that they were in the open air.

Hands reached under the sack that still covered her head and the gag was untied and a voice demanded in French, ‘Who are you?’

Her mouth was so parched that she was unable to speak, but she heard Luke croak, ‘We’re friends of Cyrano’s. We’ve come with a very important message.’

‘Name?’ the voice snapped.

‘Luke Beauchamps – and my sister is Christine.’

‘Let’s have a look at them.’

Hands pulled the sack off her head and she saw that they were standing in a forest clearing. In the centre, a fire was burning and dark figures stood between her and its light. One of them stepped forward and grabbed her arm, pulling her nearer to the fire.

‘Sister, eh?’

‘Yes,’ she managed to whisper. Then, her voice coming back to her, ‘Luke’s my brother. Please, where is Cyrano? He will tell you that we’re on your side. We just want to help.’

‘On our side, eh? And whose side is that?’

She was beginning to make out his features in the dim light. He was very dark, with a mop of curly hair and a beard trimmed close
to his chin; tall and broad-shouldered with powerful fingers that held her arm in a vice-like grip.

‘Your side,’ she replied, confused. ‘You’re with the
Maquis
, aren’t you?’

‘And what do you know about the
Maquis
?’

‘I know you are fighting the
Boche
. And Cyrano has been sent to help you. Please, is he here?’

‘This Cyrano you keep talking about, who is he?’

‘He’s…’ she stopped suddenly. If these were not the people to whom Cyrano had been sent, then she must not give away the fact that he was a British agent. She remembered that the
Maquis
was not a single organized body; they were simply men who had escaped to the forest for various reasons and, according to popular myth, many of them were nothing more than bandits. It was quite possible that they had fallen into the hands of a different group.

‘He’s what?’ her captor demanded. ‘What were you going to say?’

‘It’s a nickname, that’s all.’

‘A nickname for whom? Come on, you say you have an important message. Who is it for?’

From behind her, Luke said, ‘He’s a music teacher, in Corbigny. We heard he was with the
Maquis
. Maybe we got it wrong.’

‘So what is this important message, that you have to give to a music teacher? You want to tell him that Mozart is dead, huh?’

He chuckled at his own wit and some of the men standing around the fire joined in.

‘I can’t tell you,’ Christine said.

‘Oh yes, you can. If this message concerns the
Maquis
, you can tell it to me – and you will. I assure you of that.’

‘Look, it’s not to do with the
Maquis
,’ Luke said and Christine could tell that he was improvising desperately. She prayed that it was not so obvious to the man holding her arm. ‘It’s just a personal matter … to do with his family.’

Their captor seemed to find this very amusing.

‘Personal, eh? And you have come all the way from – where? – to give him this news. Where have you come from? Show me your papers.’

‘I can’t. I lost them. That’s why we…’ he tailed off into silence.

‘Why you what?’ Getting no answer he jerked his head towards one of his men. ‘Search them.’

Rough hands delved into her pockets, pulling out her penknife, her torch, the small first aid kit, the stub of pencil and the rest of the bits and pieces that she had put there in case of emergencies.

Inevitably, they found her identity card and ration card and handed them to their chief.

‘Nothing on him,’ the man who was searching Luke reported. ‘Maybe he’s telling the truth?’

‘Or maybe he just doesn’t want us to know who he is. Bring him here, closer to the fire. Handsome fellow, eh? Blonde, blue eyes, just like a German.’ He gave Christine’s arm a rough shake. ‘So, who is he? Your boyfriend? You’ve been consorting with the enemy, you little whore! And they’ve sent you to infiltrate our group.’

‘No! It’s not true. He’s my brother. We’re both French. That is….’

The man was examining her papers.

‘You’re from the Auvergne. What are you doing in these parts? How did you get here? Did the
Boche
send you?’

‘No!’

‘So tell me, how did you get here?’

‘I can’t!’

‘Oh yes, you can.’ His voice had softened. ‘You’ll be surprised how much you can tell me when … when you are in the right mood. Come here, nearer to the fire.’ He jerked her arm, forcing her forwards and made a gesture to one of his men, who reached out and pulled a branch from the flames, the end still glowing. He handed it to his chief and Christine shrank back as she felt the heat from it approaching her face.

‘Now,’ the soft voice went on, ‘what were you going to tell me?’

‘Leave her alone!’ Luke shouted. ‘You’ve got it all wrong. You don’t know what you are doing.’

‘Then you can explain it all to me,’ the chief said. ‘Tell me truthfully, who you are and what you are doing here.’

‘We have told you. It’s the truth.’

‘You’ll have to do better than that if you don’t want your girlfriend’s face scarred for life,’ the man snarled. ‘Come on. I give you thirty seconds.’

‘What can I say? There’s nothing else to tell.’ He was almost sobbing.

‘Twenty….’

Christine forced back a scream as the red-hot brand came closer to her face.

‘Ten….’

The noise of a motorbike engine approaching at speed shattered the silence. Christine’s captor turned towards the sound.

‘About time!’

The bike skidded to a stop and a dark figure dismounted from the pillion and came towards them; and Christine gave a cry of relief when she saw that he walked with the aid of a stick.

‘Cyrano! It is you, isn’t it? Oh, thank God! Please, tell these men who we are. Tell them we don’t mean any harm.’

‘What the hell is going on here?’ Cyrano demanded. ‘Xavier, what are you playing at? Let her go, for pity’s sake.’

‘Just a joke,’ the big man said, releasing Christine’s arm. ‘I wouldn’t have gone through with it. But I had to be sure they are telling the truth.’

Cyrano limped closer.

‘What on earth are you doing here? You should be in Auxerre by now, at least.’

‘We were.’ Her voice was shaking. ‘But we saw something, something you have to know about, so we came….’

He touched her arm.

‘OK. Tell me later. Xavier, tell your men to untie them. They are
quite harmless, I promise you. If it wasn’t for them, I probably wouldn’t be here.’

‘If you insist. As long as you can vouch for them. But I hope you know what you’re doing.’ Xavier sounded sulky and Christine had the impression that he did not like being given orders by Cyrano.

Cyrano said, ‘I’m sorry, Xavier. I’m not trying to question your authority, but I’m quite sure they are trustworthy and I do owe them a lot.’ He took Christine’s arm. ‘You poor kid. You look just about done in. Come over here and sit down.’

While he was speaking, their hands had been untied and they were led closer to the fire, where several tree trunks had been carved into rough seats. Christine sank down on one, thankful to sit before her shaking legs gave way under her.

Xavier was saying, ‘No harm done. But it’s a good job you arrived when you did. We don’t want strangers turning up uninvited.’ He raised his voice. ‘Bring some warm wine for our guests.’

‘Water!’ Christine croaked. ‘I’d rather have water.’

A tin mug was pressed into her hand, but she was shaking so much that it rattled against her teeth and spilled down her chin. To her shame, she found she was crying. Cyrano put his arm across her shoulders and murmured gently, ‘It’s OK. You’re quite safe now. Let me help you.’

He guided her hand and the cool water flooded her mouth, but her throat was so parched, that it was hard to swallow. She choked and he said, ‘Take it easy. Just a sip to begin with. There, that’s better.’

She managed to swallow a trickle of water, then a little more, until finally she was able to drain the mug.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered huskily, and he patted her shoulder in response and turned away to ask, ‘Luke? Are you all right?’

‘Just about,’ Luke responded shakily. ‘Thank God you arrived when you did.’

‘I was up a tree, sending a message,’ Cyrano said. ‘It’s the only place where I can get decent reception. Luckily, Xavier sent one of his men to fetch me.’

‘He knew who you were all the time!’

‘Yes, of course. But you can understand that he had to be cautious. I’m sorry you were manhandled like that.’

‘It wasn’t your fault. I suppose I can see Xavier’s point of view. We must have looked suspicious.’

‘I don’t understand what you are doing here,’ Cyrano said. ‘What on earth could be so important that you came back?’

As briefly as he could, Luke explained what they had seen at Auxerre.

‘We thought that, if the Allies knew what was happening, the boats would be sitting targets for bombs. Then it occurred to us that you could probably get word to the people who need to know. You could, couldn’t you?’

‘Certainly! And it will be very useful information.’ Cyrano clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Well done, both of you! You took a big risk coming back, and you’ve had a pretty rotten time for your trouble. But I’ll make sure the powers-that-be know where the information came from and the courage it required to bring it to me.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I don’t have another sked – a scheduled transmission – until tomorrow morning. But I don’t think a delay of a few hours will matter, do you? Those boats aren’t going to get anywhere very quickly. Now,’ he got up, ‘let’s try to make up for what you’ve been through. Where’s that warm wine, Xavier? And when did you last eat?’

The rest of the evening passed in a haze for Christine. The wine went to her head and then there was a delicious smell of roasting meat, as chunks of lamb were barbecued over the fire. Cyrano put a blanket around her shoulders, and she looked up at him and knew that the fear and the danger had been worth it. Then someone handed her a plate and by the time she had finished eating, she was almost asleep. Her last memory was of being helped across the clearing to a small tent, where a straw-filled palliasse was laid out for her. She looked for Luke and saw that he was settling down beside her, then she pulled the blanket over her head and slept instantly.

C
hristine woke to the smell of wood smoke and the sound of an axe. Beside her, Luke was sitting up, rubbing his face drowsily. Hearing her groan, he looked around and grinned.

‘Sore head?’

‘Sore everywhere,’ she mumbled.

‘Not surprised. You were sozzled last night.’

‘No I wasn’t! I was just tired. And I suppose you’re good as new and full of beans.’

He ran his hands ruefully through his hair. ‘No, to be honest. I feel as if I’d gone ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer. I’m stiff from the cycle ride and bruised all over after being thrown about in that van.’

She struggled into a sitting position.

‘Me, too. Still, here we are – and it was worth it, wasn’t it?’ Cyrano’s warm words came back to her, soothing the pain in her head.

‘Definitely,’ Luke agreed. ‘Who’d have thought it? We’re actually with the
Maquis
.’

‘Only temporarily,’ she reminded him.

She peered out and saw the
Maquis
camp properly for the first time; hidden among the trees around the clearing, were an assortment of shelters. Some were tents, others rough constructions of logs and branches with tarpaulins for roofs. The camp was already awake. The fire was alight and a fat man was stirring a large pot hung over it. Someone just out of her vision was chopping wood and as she watched, two men came out of the forest carrying buckets of water. It reminded her of a pressing need.

‘I wonder what they do about … you know … toilet facilities.’

‘Good point,’ he responded. ‘I’ll go and enquire, shall I?’

She watched him cross the clearing to speak to the man by the fire. Further off, Xavier was talking to two others but there was no sign of Cyrano. Then she remembered, he had a ‘sked’ that morning (she stored the term away in her memory as part of a new life that was just beginning to open up for her).

Luke came back.

‘There are some latrines somewhere down that track. Come on. I’ll keep watch for you.’

The latrines were no more than a trench with a rough plank seat above it and a tarpaulin hung between two branches as a screen. It was smelly and she had to suppress a feeling of nausea, but she told herself that she might have to put up with worse than this in the future.

When they had both done what was necessary, Luke said, ‘There’s a spring somewhere a bit further up the hill. That’s where they get their water from.’

They found it, bubbling out of some rocks and splashing into a clear pool. They rinsed their hands and faces and then drank from their cupped hands.

‘Better?’ Luke said, and Christine nodded.

‘Much better.’

Back at the camp, Xavier hailed them. ‘Aha, our two young heroes! Come and have some breakfast.’

To their surprise, there was fresh bread and creamy goat’s cheese to go with the ersatz coffee.

‘Jacques is a baker by trade,’ Xavier explained, indicating the burly figure by the fire. ‘He puts the loaves in the hot ashes over night and we have bread in the morning – even if it does have a flavour of charcoal sometimes. And Jean-Luc has brought some of his goats with him, so we have milk and cheese.’

‘How do you manage about the flour?’ Luke asked. ‘I thought the Nazis were requisitioning it all.’

‘To hell with that! We’ve distributed leaflets all round the area, telling people to barter among themselves rather than hand their produce over to the enemy. French food for French people! That’s our slogan. Jacques has a mate who owns one of the local mills. He sees we’re all right for flour. For everything else … well, the local villagers are happy to oblige.’

Looking at his piratical grin, Christine wondered just how accurate that last remark was.

They had just finished eating, when they heard the sound of a motorbike approaching along the forest track and a moment later, Cyrano appeared, riding pillion as before. He dismounted, gave his driver a pat on the shoulder and came over to sit facing them on a tree trunk.

‘Good morning. How are you feeling? Recovered from yesterday?’

‘More or less,’ Luke said.

‘I’m fine,’ Christine declared, untruthfully.

‘Well, I sent the information you gave me and it has been acknowledged, but of course we won’t know how it is being dealt with for some time. We may never hear any more about it, but I think you can be sure that it will be acted upon. So, now what? What are your plans?’

Sister and brother exchanged looks and each read in the other’s face an unspoken reluctance.

‘I suppose we must get back to Auxerre and see if M. Pasquier has got a new cargo for the
Madeleine
,’ Luke said.

‘Is there any chance that he can take you further?’

‘It all depends. If he can find a cargo going towards Montbéliard, he says he will take us and if he can’t he has promised to ask around and see if there is anyone else who would be prepared to help.’

‘And if he can’t?’

Luke shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps we could cycle, if we are allowed to keep hold of the bikes. Do you know what happened to them? We left them at the pharmacy.’

‘I’ll make enquiries. I expect they are safe. But it’s a hell of a long way to cycle.’

‘I know. But the only alternative is to thumb lifts, unless we risk the train again.’

Cyrano pursed his lips.

‘I don’t like to think of you doing any of those things. Let’s hope Pasquier is able to sort something out. But do you need to start back today? You both look pretty exhausted to me, and it’s no wonder after yesterday. Why don’t you wait until tomorrow?’

‘Pasquier said he would wait three days,’ Christine put in quickly. ‘Tomorrow would be all right, wouldn’t it?’

‘Yes, it should be,’ Luke agreed.

‘You’ll need transport back into Corbigny,’ Cyrano said. ‘I’ll see what I can arrange. I’m glad you can hang on for today. There’s someone I want you to meet.’

‘Who?’ Christine asked.

‘You’ll see. He’ll be here shortly.’ He rose. ‘I must get on. I’ve got some decoding to do.’

‘Can I help?’ Christine asked eagerly.

Cyrano shook his head with a smile.

‘Sorry, no. It’s something I have to do on my own and it requires complete concentration. Just relax. Rest while you can.’

He walked away, to where an open-sided tent sheltered a table and a couple of folding chairs. There, he sat down with his back to the rest of the camp and remained hunched over his papers, apparently oblivious to everything else. Around them men were sitting in small groups, chatting, while some of them cleaned an assortment of shotguns and old rifles.

Christine slid off the log she was sitting on and leaned her back against it, closing her eyes. The sun shone through the canopy of leaves and the only sounds were the murmur of voices and the cooing of wood pigeons. It was hard to believe they were sitting in the middle of an outlaws’ camp.

‘I wish we could do something useful,’ Luke said restlessly.

She opened her eyes. ‘Nobody seems to be doing anything much. It isn’t quite what you imagined, is it?’

He shrugged.

‘I suppose they have to have rest days, like us.’

The sound of someone trying to start a car engine shattered the peace. Again and again, the starter motor whined and the engine coughed and then subsided into silence. Christine sat up irritably.

‘He’s going to flatten the battery if he goes on like that.’

Luke looked at her with a grin. ‘Perhaps you ought to go and sort him out, Sis.’

Then his mischievous expression changed as she rose to her feet, saying, ‘Perhaps I’d better.’

‘No, really, I don’t think…’ he called after her, but she ignored him.

The source of the noise was the van they had been brought to the camp in the night before, which was parked to one side under the trees. As Christine approached, a young man she recognized as one of their captors climbed down from the driving seat and kicked one of the wheels, swearing under his breath.

Seeing her, he blushed and muttered, ‘Sorry, Mademoiselle.’

‘Having trouble?’ she asked.

‘You could say that. This pig of an engine’s been playing up for days. Now it’s finally died on me.’

‘Have you checked the spark plugs?’

‘What?’

‘The spark plugs may need cleaning. Have you looked?’

‘How the hell am I supposed to do that? I’m not a
garagiste
.’

‘But you drive the car.’

‘That’s different. My old boss taught me to drive so I could do deliveries. He didn’t expect me to mend the damn thing if it went wrong.’

Christine shook her head in exasperation.

‘No one should drive if they don’t know what’s going on under the bonnet. Now you see what happens? OK. Let me have a look.’

He tried to suppress a grin of disbelief and failed.

‘You, Mademoiselle?’

‘Yes, me! Mind out of the way.’

He stood aside and she opened the bonnet. As she expected, the spark plugs were thick with soot.

‘Are there any tools?’

‘I dunno. There’s something wrapped up an old rag under the dashboard.’

‘Let’s have a look.’

The roll of cloth contained various tools and Christine pounced on one triumphantly.

‘Plug spanner! This is what I need.’

He watched as she removed the plugs, his air of supercilious amusement vanishing.

‘
Merde
alors
! Where did you learn to do that?’

‘From my father. Hold on to these for a minute.’ She delved in the pocket of her overalls and found her penknife, then took the plugs and carefully scraped away the deposit. A final polish with the rag and they were ready to replace. She straightened up and turned to the young man.

‘Try her now.’

He climbed into the driving seat and pressed the starter, and the engine burst into life. He leaned out of the window.

‘Mademoiselle … I don’t know your name. I’m Jean-Claude, by the way.’

‘Christine.’

‘Mademoiselle Christine, you are a miracle worker!
Mercie mille fois
!’

‘
Ça
ne fait rien
,’ she responded, and turned away to conceal a grin of satisfaction.

As she rejoined her brother, the sound of another vehicle approaching attracted her attention. An elderly Mercedes bounced along the track with two armed men balancing on the running boards. It stopped in the centre of the camp and a tall, fair, man got out. Cyrano had heard the car too, and hurried from the tent to greet him and they were soon joined by Xavier.

There was a rapid exchange of handshakes and she saw that Cyrano was showing the other two what he had just been writing. Something about his body language suggested excitement and the impression was confirmed when Xavier gave a shout of triumph. The newcomer laid a hand on his arm, apparently enjoining restraint, and then all three moved away to the tent, where they sat with their heads together poring over what looked like a map.

Luke had been watching too.

‘Well, I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s obviously pleased Xavier.’

‘It must be something to do with the radio message Cyrano was decoding,’ Christine said.

‘I see you got the van started,’ Luke said. ‘Well done.’

She shrugged.

‘Really, no one should be allowed to drive when they haven’t got the remotest idea how to maintain an engine.’

‘Well, I haven’t,’ he admitted.

‘No, I know you haven’t. I’d better teach you when we get home.’ She stopped abruptly, and they were both aware of the unspoken ‘if’.

Eventually, the conference in the tent came to an end and Cyrano led the stranger over to where they were sitting.

‘This is Luke, and his sister Christine. They are the two who were responsible for getting me out of that barn and safely to Corbigny. This is Gregoire, my boss.’

Gregoire shook hands with both of them.

‘I’m very grateful to you. But for you, I should have been without a radio operator … again.’ He exchanged a look with Cyrano. ‘And I’m told you have just brought us some very useful intelligence.’

‘We were lucky to be in Auxerre at the right time,’ Luke said. ‘But we thought someone should know what was going on.’

‘Quite right, and I hear you took a considerable risk getting to us. I’ll try to make sure that is noted in the right quarters. Cyrano tells me your father is English.’

‘Yes. Well, so are we,’ Luke pointed out. ‘That’s the problem.’

Gregoire seated himself on the log.

‘Relax. There’s no need to stand on ceremony.’ Then, when they were sitting opposite him, ‘So, your family owns a vineyard. Is that right?’

‘Yes. It’s been in the French side of the family for generations, but Father and Mother were running it together until the war broke out.’

‘And your father is currently serving in the RAF?’

‘As far as we know.’

‘Tell me, what does he look like?’

Luke looked at Christine, apparently at a loss.

‘He’s very much like Luke,’ she said, puzzled. ‘The same build, same hair, same eyes – but he has a moustache.’

Gregoire nodded, his eyes narrowing.

‘I think I may have come across him. At least, I met someone answering that description, who was obviously a bit of an expert in the wine business.’

‘You’ve met him?’ Christine exclaimed. ‘Where?’

Gregoire looked vague. ‘Oh, on some course or other. I can’t put my finger on it precisely.’

‘You didn’t ask his name?’

‘No. It wasn’t … appropriate at that juncture.’

‘Just a minute,’ Luke said. ‘Cyrano said you’re his boss. Does that mean you are…?’

Gregoire nodded quietly, ‘English, like you. We’re here to liaise with the
Maquis
, in the hope that when the time comes, they may be able to play a useful part.’

‘You mean when the Allies invade? When will that happen?’

Gregoire shook his head. ‘I’m afraid on that point your guess is as good as mine.’

Luke looked around the clearing.

‘How much help can they be? There aren’t very many of them and they don’t seem to be doing much right now.’

‘Well, they are not the only ones. There’s another group about
six miles away, led by a man called Vincent. He’s got nearly forty men with him. That’s where I’m based at the moment.’