Legacy of Hate Page 11

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The clerk telephoned the taxi rank, and a few minutes later Roess was at headquarters. Sentries stared at him and hastily presented arms. There were only a handful of sleepy clerks in the downstairs offices, and these regarded him as if he were a ghost.

  ‘You!’ He pointed at the duty sergeant. ‘What is your name?’ ‘Fehrmark, Herr Colonel.’

  ‘Very good, Sergeant Fehrmark. You have a prisoner in your cells. A British agent. Take me to him.’

  ‘Ah … it is a woman, Herr Colonel.’

  Roess could not believe his good fortune. ‘Well then, take me to her.’

  ‘She is Colonel Hoeppner’s prisoner, sir. His orders are that she is not to be interrogated except in his presence.’

  ‘Do you know who I am?’

  ‘Yes, Herr Colonel. You are Colonel Roess of the Gestapo.’ ‘Then you will know that Colonel Hoeppner takes his orders from me. I wish to see this prisoner, now.’

  The sergeant gulped. ‘Yes, Herr Colonel.’ He walked round his desk, giving the woman clerk seated beside him a violent kick on the ankle as he did so.

  She gasped, but managed not to say anything, watched Roess follow the sergeant along the corridor to the stairs leading down to the cells. ‘What the fuck brought that on?’ she muttered. ‘He could have broken my leg. I think he did.’ She raised her skirt to rub her stocking vigorously.

  ‘I think he was trying to tell you something,’ said the soldier standing behind her, admiring the view. ‘I think he wants you to get hold of the colonel, and tell him what is happening.’

  ‘Me? Wake up Colonel Hoeppner? It is nearly two o’clock in the morning.’

  ‘Well, that’s what I think he wants.’

  The woman bit her lip. Either way she was on a hiding to nothing. But she was actually more afraid of the sergeant than of the colonel, with whom she had never come into contact, except at a safe distance. Then she had an idea. ‘I’ll call Eva. She’ll know what to do.’

  ‘Would you like a cigarette?’ Franz asked.

  ‘I’d prefer a drink,’ Joanna said, stretching.

  ‘Was I that bad?’ He got out of bed and switched on the lamp.

  ‘You were excellent.’

  ‘And you were superb. But a drink — it will mean waking up the hotel.’

  ‘Try the bathroom.’

  He opened the door, switched on the bathroom light. ‘Were you expecting the worst?’

  i always expect the best. But 1 also always travel with my own liquor.’

  He half-filled the two tooth mugs and brought them to the bed, sitting beside her. ‘I do not wish to, but I feel I have to go.’

  ‘Why? Aren’t I coming with you tomorrow to pick up this British agent?’

  ‘I think it would be bad form for us to arrive at the office together. Or for the chambermaid to find us in bed together.’

  ‘And form bothers you. You ever thought that you have a lot in common with the Brits?’

  ‘Should we not? We are of the same stock.’

  The telephone jangled. They looked at each other. ‘I’ll take it,’ Joanna said, swinging her legs out of bed. ‘It can only be Oskar, checking up on me.’

  ‘But he does not know where you are staying.’

  ‘I called him, remember.’ She picked up the receiver. ‘Yes?’ ‘Oh, Fraulein Jonsson.’ Eva was breathless. ‘I must speak with the colonel. It is most urgent.’

  Joanna looked at Franz. ‘It’s your secretary. She sounds agitated.’

  ‘Eva? How did she know where to find me?’

  ‘I’d like you to explain that, yes.’ Joanna gave him the receiver.

  ‘Eva? How did you know where I am?’

  ‘Well, Herr Colonel, I tried your rooms, and you were not there, and I knew you were taking Fraulein Jonsson out to dinner … ’ She paused, archly.

  ‘You should be a detective. Why are you calling me at half past two in the morning?’

  ‘It is about Colonel Roess, sir.’

  ‘He’s not dead?’

  ‘No, sir. He has gone to headquarters.’

  ‘In the middle of the night? The man must have lost his senses. What is he doing there?’

  ‘I understand that he has left again, sir. But he has taken the prisoner.’

  Franz stared at the telephone for a moment. ‘Taken her where?’

  ‘They think to Gestapo Headquarters.’

  ‘Shit,’ Franz muttered. ‘Very good, Eva. Thank you for letting me know.’ He hung up.

  ‘Problem?’ Joanna asked, having returned to bed.

  ‘Only that that cretin Roess does not appear to be as badly hurt as I supposed. Or he has actually suffered brain damage. He has gone charging down to headquarters, overruled my orders, and carried Cartwright off to Gestapo Headquarters.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Joanna leapt out of bed and ran into the bathroom.

  Franz followed her. ‘I know. It is most unfortunate for the woman; she looked a thoroughly nice girl. But there it is. It was bound to happen.’

  Joanna ran back out of the bathroom and began dressing. ‘Hurry up.’

  ‘Joanna, there is nothing we can do. Once the Gestapo have someone … ’

  ‘You have retrieved someone from the Gestapo before. Amalie de Gruchy,’

  ‘That was different. I was a major and Roess was only a captain. And it was in an area still considered to be a combat zone, on the Channel coast, so the Wehrmacht had ultimate authority. Now that things have settled down, and certainly as he has been sent down here to take control of the investigation … ’

  Joanna buttoned her blouse, tucked it into her skirt, and reached for her mink. ‘Franz, I am going to Gestapo Headquarters now. Are you coming or not?’

  He began to dress himself. ‘But what can you do? You have no authority over the Gestapo. Roess will probably lock you up. And this woman is nothing to you.’

  ‘This woman is a prisoner I have been instructed to deliver to SD headquarters in Berlin. This I intend to do, and I do not wish her to be a shattered wreck when I get her there. As for authority, I have the authority of Oskar Weber. If anyone is going to be locked up, it will be Johann Roess.’

  Franz stared at her for several seconds, then he finished dressing and followed her down the stairs.

  Rachel was surprised to realize that she had actually slept. She was not used to sleeping in her clothes, which, despite her shower, still stank of rotten fruit, and the single bunk bed in the cell was harder than anything she had previously known. There was also the fact that her brain was in turmoil. On the other hand, as the German colonel had commanded, she had been served a very good dinner, had drunk every drop of the surprisingly good wine, and no one had yet laid a hand on her, even to sexually assault her, much less torture her. With the aid of the wine she had almost convinced herself that she might be going to get away with it. But now she was awake, staring into the darkness, listening to distant sounds on the level above her, and she knew she was not going to sleep again. Because someone was going to lay hands on her very soon, and then …

  Oddly, she was more curious than afraid. She did not yet regret that she had not bitten the cyanide capsule. She had no idea what they were going to do to her, what it would feel like. She intended to let herself go and scream as loudly as she could. As long as she was doing that, she couldn’t tell them anything. It was a matter of living in the present, from minute to minute, of feeling. Her body was alive, all of its private and intimate parts tingling. Because she knew that those parts were soon to cease being private and would belong to the men who would be interrogating her.

  Footsteps in the corridor. Rachel sat up, all of her courage draining from her mind. It could not possibly be morning yet. But perhaps they were just coming to make sure she was all right. She lay down again, closed her eyes. A light came on and a key scraped. She opened her eyes again, blinking short-sightedly as two men entered her cell. She did not remember ever having seen them before, but she knew that one was an officer
and the other a sergeant. It was the officer that mattered. He was not very tall, in fact was altogether a small man, his face separated by his moustache; neither half was the least attractive. And his head was bandaged. She found that incredibly odd. The sergeant issued an order, but she did not understand him. So she stared at him and he began to shout. The officer spoke, quietly, and the shouting stopped, although the sergeant continued to glare at her.

  ‘He does not realize that you do not speak German,’ Roess said in French. ‘I understand that you are an English agent.’

  He seemed perfectly civilized. Perhaps she was just being lucky with her German officers. Oh, how she hoped her luck would hold. ‘Everyone tells me that,’ she said, as insouci-antly as she could. ‘I don’t know the reason. My name is Brigitte Ferrand, and I am a schoolteacher from Paris.’

  ‘I am Colonel Johann Roess, and I am commander of the Gestapo in France.’ Rachel caught her breath, which she felt was not unreasonable for a schoolteacher. ‘So, get up. You are coming with me.’

  Rachel licked her lips. ‘Colonel Hoeppner said … ’

  ‘What Colonel Hoeppner said is of no importance now.’ Without warning he stepped forward and slapped her across the face, very hard. Her head spun and she tasted blood as she fell across the bunk. ‘I told you to get up.’ Rachel slipped off the bed and found herself on her knees, gasping for breath. Immediately the toe of his boot thudded into her thigh. Such primeval violence, happening with such unexpected suddenness, seemed to have paralysed her brain. ‘Up!’

  The paralysis was soon replaced by anger. With her training she could surely take this rat apart. She reached her feet and swung her hand, only to be struck from behind, a shattering blow in her kidneys that sent her back on to her knees, vomiting. She had forgotten the sergeant, standing behind her.

  ‘Don’t hit her again,’ Roess said. ‘She has spirit. I do not want her damaged yet. What took you so long?’

  Rachel realized that he was speaking to some more men, who had come hurrying down the corridor. ‘We came as quickly as we could, Herr Colonel.’

  ‘You mean you were asleep. I wish this woman taken to our headquarters. Be careful with her.’

  Rachel felt hands grasping her arms and shoulders to drag her to her feet. Her head was still spinning and she had no breath, while the pain in her back was agonizing, robbing her of all her strength. Her knees gave way and she was dragged through the cell door and along the corridor.

  ‘Pick her up!’ Ross commanded.

  Other hands grasped her thighs and ankles, and she was carried between the four men. Their fingers ate into her flesh and she thanked God that she was wearing trousers, but she did not suppose they were going to provide more than a passing safeguard. She was carried up the stairs, too exhausted to attempt to move, aware only of pain accentuated by the fingers. Dimly she realized that she was being carried through the outer office, past several men and a woman, who were on their feet as the officer passed. The woman held a telephone in her hand and looked terrified. Then she was in the open, inhaling the near freezing air and realizing for the first time that both her coat and her jerkin had been left in the cell. She was thrust into the back of a limousine, landing on her knees as the hands released her.

  ‘Handcuff her,’ Roess commanded. ‘She is a hellion.’ Her arms were pulled behind her back and she felt the steel of the handcuffs as they were clipped into place. ‘Now seat her,’ Roess said.

  She was dragged upright and made to sit in the centre of the rear seat. Roess got in beside her, and one of his men sat on the other side. Three more got into the front, and the limousine drove out of the yard. Rachel swallowed some more blood and at last got her breathing under control.

  ‘You have no right to do this,’ she ventured, hating herself because her teeth were chattering from the cold.

  ‘I have the right to do anything I wish.’ As if to prove it, he squeezed her breasts through the shirt. Rachel gasped in discomfort and revulsion; her nipples were hard because of the cold. She opened her mouth and then closed it again. Protesting was clearly not going to accomplish anything. She had simply to accept what was happening to her, and wait for it to end.

  Roess’s hands roamed over her shirt and then over her stomach and down to her groin. She clamped her knees together, but he forced his hand between her thighs, again to squeeze. This time she drew a sharp breath.

  ‘Why do you not scream?’ he asked. ‘I like to hear women scream.’ Rachel spat at him and his head jerked back, while his hand was withdrawn to wipe the saliva from his face. ‘You will scream,’ he said. ‘You will scream so loud they will hear you in London.’ The car was slowing and then turning into another courtyard before coming to a halt. ‘Take her out,’ Roess commanded.

  The man seated on Rachel’s other side got out, and then grasped her arms to pull her behind him. She stumbled but this time kept her feet; she did not wish to be dragged again like a sack of coal. Another man stood at her other side, also holding an arm, and she was pushed through an open doorway into another office, which at least provided some warmth.

  Roess followed her into the room. ‘Downstairs,’ he ordered.

  Rachel was largely unaware of the other men in the room as she concentrated on keeping on her feet. Even so she repeatedly stumbled as she was forced across the floor and down a flight of stairs. This level was brilliantly lit and consisted of a corridor along the front of several closed doors. Behind these doors there was restless movement and a mixture of shouts and groans, wails and whimpers. The men ignored these and forced Rachel the length of the corridor to another door, which was opened. Already short of breath, Rachel all but choked as she gazed at the instruments hanging on the walls, the rings let into the floor. My God, she thought. This can’tbe happening to me! Now she felt like screaming. But she would not give these brutes that satisfaction.

  Roess came in and closed the door. ‘Let’s see what the bitch has to offer,’ he said. The handcuffs were taken off, but there was no relief. Surrounded and manhandled by the four men, Rachel could do nothing but gasp as she was pushed and pulled to and fro while her clothes were taken away, buttons being ripped off and the material torn. The most humiliating moment was when, naked, she was thrown over one of the men’s shoulders while her boots were removed. Then she was set on her feet to face Roess. Instinctively she closed one hand over her pubes and held the other arm across her breasts. Then she let them fall to her side. Modesty had no place here.

  ‘Thin,’ Roess remarked. ‘But not unattractive.’ He held her hands to examine her fingers. ‘These have never seen a day’s manual work. You are upper crust, eh?’ He peered closer, looking for marks. ‘And they have never known a ring, either. Can you be a virgin?’

  ‘We can soon put that right, Herr Colonel,’ said one of the men.

  ‘Oh, indeed, we shall do that. But first we must make her feel a little. And tell us the truth about herself.’ He snapped his fingers, and his men, who obviously knew what he wanted without being told, immediately raised Rachel’s arms above her head and secured them to steel rings hanging from the ceiling. Meanwhile Roess went to the wall and selected a riding crop, with a thong about four feet long. ‘This will make you cry,’ he said, returning to stand at her shoulder. ‘But first, light a cigarette.’

  One of the men obeyed, inhaling to make sure it was well lit, and then handed it to his superior. Rachel drew a deep breath, and then realized that had been a mistake, as he fingered her left nipple to bring it back erect. ‘Let us discover what you are made of, Mademoiselle Cartwright,’ he said, and stroked the nipple with the unlit end, then suddenly reversed it and pressed the glowing tip into the pink flesh.

  Rachel could not suppress a little whimper of pain, and he smiled. ‘Tell me your name.’

  She panted. ‘My name is Brigitte Ferrand, and I am a schoolteacher from Paris.’

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Fortunately you have two tits.’ He massaged the other one.

  The
pain was already considerable. Rachel knew she was going to scream after all. She drew another deep breath, closed her eyes, and heard the door open.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ Roess demanded.

  ‘You took the words right out of my mouth,’ Joanna said.

  Rachel opened her eyes in amazement. Roess had also just realized who the intruders were, or at least one of them. The other was Colonel Hoeppner, looking at once embarrassed and apprehensive, in strong contrast to Joanna, who was her usual soignee, immaculate and ebullient self.

  ‘You!’ Roess snapped.

  ‘In the flesh. Now tell me what you are doing with my prisoner.’ She stepped closer to Rachel, nostrils dilating at the odour of scorched flesh. ‘My God! You bastard!’ She stared at Rachel, and Rachel stared back, their eyes exchanging a wealth of signals.

  ‘Your prisoner?’ Roess demanded. ‘This woman is a British agent’

  ‘You could be right,’ Joanna agreed. ‘She looks British. But to burn her … ’

  ‘That is standard procedure. And as a spy, she belongs to the Gestapo.’

  ‘Now there you are wrong. She is a prisoner of the SD. I have been sent here by Colonel Weber to take possession of her and escort her to Berlin for interrogation.’

  Roess looked at Franz with his mouth open. ‘I’m afraid that is correct, Johann,’ Franz said.

  ‘So you,’ Joanna said, pointing at the policemen, ‘take the prisoner down.’ She walked to where Rachel’s discarded clothing had been thrown. ‘These are torn. Fetch a greatcoat.’

  Roess at last found his voice. ‘You cannot give orders to my men.’

  ‘Then you do so. A greatcoat. And release her.’

  ‘I think it would be best for you to do as Fraulein Jonsson requires,’ Franz suggested.

  ‘I will make an official report of this incident to General Heydrich.’

  ‘I think that would be a very good idea,’ Joanna agreed. ‘In fact, it may be essential to your future, seeing that Colonel Weber is acting on General Heydrich’s instructions.’ Once again Roess was speechless. ‘Down,’ Joanna repeated. ‘And a coat.’