Spook's Gold (45 page)

Marner was visibly shocked at the sight of the dead soldier and the mess of blood. The head was lolling at an acute angle, nearly severed from the body; only the spinal column and flesh at the back of the neck were intact.

“Who’s driving?” asked Dubus.

“You drive this one and I’ll take the other,” decided Delaune. Dubus remained where he was and shook his head; he could not drive. They both looked up at Slowikowski who also shook his head, not taking his eyes off the farm entrance. There followed a brief and heated argument in which they quietly cursed each other for not having thought it through. Lemele interrupted them to announce that she knew how to drive. Delaune looked at her skeptically, as if to infer that this was a military vehicle and somehow beyond the capabilities of a woman. A voice was heard from the farm, the soldiers calling to their colleague outside to come and join them. Slowikowski hissed at them, exasperated, “We don’t have time for this nonsense! Lemele: you drive this one. Delaune and Dub’ take the other. Let’s go people!”

Dubus shoved Marner into the back seat of the Kubelwagen behind Slowikowski, the rest of the space in the rear being taken up by the PIAT and rucksack. Lemele pushed the starter button and the motor clattered into life, raising shouts from within the farm. Delaune hit the starter on the other but the motor would not fire, whirring uselessly as the battery spun the engine. Delaune swore and slammed the wheel in frustration whilst he stabbed repeatedly at the button, to no avail.

Lemele was revving the engine, first gear engaged and ready to go. The first of the soldiers came sprinting out of the gateway. Slowikowski reacted instantly with the MG42 and the fusillade of heavy caliber bullets plucked the leading soldier from his feet and flung his lifeless, shredded body onto the gravel like a ragdoll, leaving a mist of purple blood hanging in the air. A second had come through hard on his heels but now turned in fright, scrambling on the loose surface as he wheeled around and fled back into the yard. Slowikowski continued pouring rounds into the wall on either side of the gateway and the rough brick and mud wall disintegrated under the onslaught.

“Leave it, come on!” she yelled when Slowikowski finally paused in his firing, her ears traumatized by the dry rasp of the MG in such close proximity. Delaune gave the wheel one last thump and then leapt out, dashing to take the front passenger seat beside Lemele. Dubus was slower coming around from the other side of the abandoned Kubelwagen. There was no vacant seat or space and so he had to sprawl across Slowikowski’s pack, grabbing onto the rail between the front seats that held the MG mount with one hand, a fistful of Marner’s tunic in the other. His legs were dangling over the back of the car but he roared at Lemele to go.

Lemele let out the clutch, but too fast. The wheels spun and she had to dip the clutch pedal back to stop the engine stalling as the tyres suddenly found grip. She had to turn the car, to orient it back along the road in the direction from which it had arrived, handling it more gently this time. Too gently; the car trundled into motion at an agonizingly slow speed. Delaune leaned across and enquired sarcastically if she was really sure that she knew how to drive. Her response was to floor the accelerator and the car surged forward. Slowikowski swiveled the MG as they passed the entrance to the farm, loosing off another burst even though the soldiers had hidden themselves. The noise and flying masonry would convince them to stay cowering wherever they were.

As they sped away from the farm, Slowikowski was obliged to step over into the front to enable him to point the MG backwards, covering their rear. Delaune received a kick on the back of the head and Lemele had her thigh trodden on as he executed this manoeuvre. Finally he managed to find space for his feet between the front seats.

Delaune looked back, shouted up, “Disable the other one!”

Slowikowski understood and began spraying bullets into the Kubelwagen that they had left behind. Despite a lack of accuracy due to the bouncing and lurching of the car as Lemele tried to avoid the worst of the potholes and bumps in the track, he succeeded in pumping a dozen rounds into it. The windscreen exploded, chunks of metal flew off and then a jet of steam blew, indicating that he had hit the radiator. Even if the Germans managed to start it, the engine would only run a few minutes before overheating.

Then from around the gently curving track came a surprise: two more Wehrmacht on a BMW motorcycle and sidecar. They had been stationed at the junction of the road ahead, had heard the commotion and were now on their way to investigate. The bike slithered to a halt in the centre of the road, its occupants shocked by the amazing sight of the overloaded Kubelwagen hurtling towards them.

Lemele sat up from her position hunched over the wheel and made a rapid appraisal. The track was only a single car-width, bordered by a dry stone wall on one side and a hedge on the other. In short, there was no possibility of swerving around the bike; no way to avoid a collision. She began to react as her mind screamed out the only option, already starting to lift her foot off of the accelerator to transfer it to the brake pedal.

Delaune had other ideas. He crunched his left boot down on top of her right foot, jamming it and the accelerator pedal to the floor. He also grabbed the steering wheel in his huge left hand with a vice-like grip. Lemele had instinctively started to turn to avoid the impact but she now found that she could not move the wheel.

Slowikowski sensed Lemele’s panic as she began to fight Delaune’s control of the car. He swiveled his head to locate the source of her alarm and saw that there was insufficient time for him to reverse his position again, to bring the MG back around to face forward against this new threat. Resigned to being a passenger, he gripped the barrel of the MG in one hand and wrapped his arm around the stock, braced for the impact.

As the sidecar passenger began scrambling to get up and out of the seat, his driver took action. He crunched the BMW into low gear and gunned the engine to slew the motorbike around in a half turn, the centrifugal force almost tossing his passenger out of the sidecar. The bike spewed stones as the rear tyre fought for traction and then it was moving, but it was not fast enough from a standing start against the speeding Kubelwagen.

Lemele was trying desperately to pull her foot from under Delaune’s massive, granite-like boot, trying to wrestle the wheel from his iron grip, but she could not move him, could only watch in terror as events unfolded. The front of the car slammed into the rear of the bike, causing it to jump forward and the front wheel to rear up into the air. The rider lost his grip on the handlebars, tumbled backwards off the bike and under the speeding car. The Kubelwagen bucked wildly as it rolled over the top of him, yet Delaune kept his foot clamped down and his unwavering hand on the wheel. Rider less, the handlebars of the motorbike flopped to one side and then the bike swerved around and slowed. The sidecar passenger gave a last horrified look at them as the whole machine tilted up, about to flip over. A moment later the car slammed into the underside of the tipping machine and punted it into the air. The outfit cartwheeled a few yards, slammed against the wall and then exploded through into the field beyond in a shower of stone chunks and twisted metal.

Delaune now lifted his boot away, permitting Lemele’s numb foot to slip lifelessly to the floor. The Kubelwagen free-wheeled to a halt, both of them still holding the steering wheel, although in Lemele’s case it was because she was paralysed with shock. Once they were stationary, Delaune removed his hand and leant forward in his seat to peer around Slowikowski’s leg at the pale and trembling Lemele, enquiring gently, “Shall I drive now?”

Chapter Forty Nine

The Kubelwagen was abandoned in a quarry three kilometres south of the coast. It was now almost dark, a heavy overcast sky pulling down a veil on the mid-summer evening.

After walking for ten minutes along the edge of a succession of fields they reached a crossroads and hid themselves in the hedgerow bordering it, whilst Delaune checked the map using a pocket lamp that emitted a weak red glow for illumination. “We are almost exactly on the longitude of the coordinate that you gave us, so if we continue directly north we will reach the coastline.”

“Is there anything there?  A town perhaps?” asked Lemele.

“Nothing marked on here except cliffs. The nearest village is one kilometre east.”

“If he is meeting the submarine, then it cannot approach too close for risk of grounding. Either he is a strong swimmer, or he has a boat.”

Delaune thought about this for a moment. “The obvious place for him to take a boat from is that village. But I am reluctant to take all of us there; it will be difficult to remain hidden.”

“Then I should go,” suggested Lemele. “I am the only one in civilian clothes. I can pass through the village and look around without attracting too much attention.”

Delaune was unhappy with this. “We don’t know for sure that he is going to use a boat and that he is there. He could have obtained or stolen one from anywhere further along the coast. It’s now nearly eleven o’clock. We only have two hours until the defined rendezvous time. It would be best to carry straight on and go directly to the cliffs.”

Delaune was finally swayed by Lemele’s argument that they also needed to know if there were any Germans in the town. “If we get into a gun-fight with Graf out there, the sound will be audible to the village; it’s only a kilometre away. I will go to the village. Give me thirty minutes; if I’m not back, then we will meet at the rendezvous.”

She elected to take her pistol, just in case she really did run into Graf, shoving it into the waistband of her trousers and pulling a cardigan from her rucksack to cover it. She wished them good luck and stepped out onto the road.

----

Lemele approached the village from the west, crossing a field of stubble to walk along the edge of the settlement. After being blocked by fences and harassed by dogs in the gardens of the houses, she had no choice but to switch to the main street that sloped down to the harbour. This would also give her more chance of locating Graf than creeping along the back yards, peering into rear windows.

Stepping from the alleyway into the street, she was immediately confronted by two gendarmes who were struggling up the steep incline, pushing their ancient bicycles. Looking straight ahead she strode boldly past them, wishing them a good evening. Her hope that she would not arouse their curiosity was dashed when one of them called to her, “Excuse me Ma’am, could I see your identification please.”

Lemele turned and walked the few metres back to them. They were both in their late forties or early fifties, both rather unfit judging by the way that they were breathing heavily and sweating from climbing the hill. The taller of the two, who had a thin severe face that sported a comically bushy walrus moustache, held out his hand for her papers. “We don’t get many strangers around here you see,” he explained, as if in apology for having to trouble her.

Lemele handed over her inspector’s identification. “I am a police officer. I’m here with my team searching for a German naval officer who has committed a number of murders. Have you seen any other people hanging around this town or the coast in the last two weeks?” She gave them a brief physical description of Graf.

The gendarmes looked at each other in amazement and then back at Lemele. “We did see someone matching that description earlier, down by the quay,” he replied, handing the document back to Lemele. She replaced it in her pocket, hoping that the bulge of the pistol tucked into her trousers was not obvious.

“I think that we should accompany you down there Ma’am, just in case it is your man and you need some help to apprehend him.”

Flanked by her deputies, Lemele hurried down the hill as fast as she could, the cobbled surface playing havoc with her extremely abused and sore feet. As they approached the harbour, Lemele could see that it did not really deserve the title. It was a narrow strip of shingle onto which a number of small wooden fishing boats had been dragged; those without masts were turned upside down. The smell of brine was replaced by that of fish and rotting seaweed. Only the bluff of the cliff that wrapped around the bay, barely visible as a dark mass against the night sky, made this a natural haven for the village.

She could see no one on the shingle beach and was about to turn and ask the gendarmes exactly where they had seen this man when a noise drew her attention. As she strained to see into the gloom, a shadow moved from behind one the upturned hulls. It was Graf. Lemele tugged the pistol out of her waistband and levelled it at him. “Don’t move Graf. Hands up.”  She stepped carefully from the concrete slipway onto the stones of the beach and crunched across them until she was ten metres from him, could clearly see his face. He was wearing a pair of canvas trousers and a very old and stained Bretagne sweater.

“Ah, there you are again,” he sighed. “You really do seem to pop up in the most unusual places. Are you all alone, or is your dumb Aryan partner with you?”

“Shut up,” she snapped. “My colleagues here are all the help that I need.”

Graf smiled at her, but spoke to the gendarme to her left, “Is that so, Philippe?  Are you really helping the inspector out this evening?”

Confused, Lemele turned to look. She felt a blinding pain in her right wrist, shrieked and collapsed to her knees clutching her arm. The dropped pistol was quickly snatched up by Graf. Lemele looked up to see walrus moustache grinning malevolently down at her. The baton that he had struck her with was raised and ready to descend again.

“Thank you Arnaud, that will be sufficient for now,” cautioned Graf. The gendarme relaxed and stepped back. Graf turned the pistol over in his hands. “You really do have a penchant for the Walther, don’t you my dear. Is that a habit that you picked up from your SS boyfriend?  Where is he tonight?”

Graf gave Lemele a few taps on the thigh with his boot tip but she remained silent, head down, cradling her arm. When it became clear that Lemele would not respond, Graf sighed and turned to the gendarmes. “Any sign of an SD officer running around the village?  He’s a big blond idiot in a uniform, you can’t miss him.”