The Brightest Day Page 3

  Roess snorted. Himmler turned to him. “You do not believe this? You are accusing Fraulein Jonnson of lying?”

  “I deal in facts, Herr Reichsfuehrer. And the fact is that Liane de Gruchy did not die in that battle. How she survived I do not know, but it is also a fact that since then she has continued her reign of terror throughout France.”

  “Including laying you out on the one occasion you got too close to her,” Joanna reminded him.

  Roess glared at her. “Including giving the British detailed information on the defences of Dieppe, which enabled them to carry out their raid last year. I saw her there.”

  “But like Fraulein Jonsson,” Himmler pointed out, “you were unable to kill or capture her. The woman seems to have more lives than a cat. And that raid was not successful, was it? However, I regard it as essential, if you and Fraulein Jonsson are going to work together, that there is absolute trust between you. As for what happened in the cave and afterwards, I wish to see General Heydrich’s precise instructions.”

  “There are no written instructions, sir,” Roess said. “General Heydrich apparently gave Colonel Weber only verbal orders.”

  “Because what he was doing was illegal. And he is now dead. Well, get hold of this fellow Karlovy and have him corroborate the Fraulein’s story.”

  “Captain Karlovy is also dead, sir. He was killed in Russia a few month ago.”

  “And Weber is now in Russia himself. But as he was unconscious when all this was going on, he can hardly tell us much about it. I’m afraid you and the Fraulein will just have to kiss and make up, Roess. I am speaking figuratively.”

  Joanna was just getting her breath back. “Would you repeat that, Herr Reichsfuehrer? I am to work with Colonel Roess?”

  “On this assignment, yes. As the colonel has pointed out, you know the area. You also know Fraulein de Gruchy. I am informed that one of the reasons she has evaded captured for so long is that she is a mistress of disguise. I am sure that she will not be able to fool you. I am making the elimination of this woman top priority. The news from Russia has not been good this winter. That, combined with the Allies’ success in North Africa, means that the people of the various occupied countries under our control are becoming restless, assuming that we may soon be forced to make peace.”

  “Did not Roosevelt and Churchill declare that they would only accept unconditional surrender?” Joanna ventured.

  “That is pure rhetoric. They would be happy to make peace, if we offered it. This war is bleeding them white. So Russia is holding out longer than we had expected, and it looks as if we may lose North Africa. Those are peripherals. The Allies have no means of getting at us in Fortress Europe, except by bombing, and that is not going to get them anywhere. We hear all this aimless chatter about the Second Front. Propaganda. If we couldn’t find a way to invade Great Britain in 1940, when we were strong and they were weak, how are they going to find a way to invade Europe when our armed forces are still the strongest in the world?”

  Neither Roess nor Joanna, who both had access to the Top Secret reports and directives that emanated from OKW, the military headquarters, dared suggest that their employer might be drawing a somewhat rosy picture. “No, no,” Himmler went on. “The only course left to the Allies is to stir up the people of the occupied territories. We know they are encouraging every aspect of resistance, with this futile V for victory code. But we must not underestimate these people.

  “The key to the problem is leadership. Without leadership these bandits are just bandits. We must concentrate on removing the leaders. We are devoting a great deal of time and resources to destroying this fellow Tito in Yugoslavia. Now in France there is this fellow Moulin. He must be caught and executed, as publicly as possible. The same goes for his side-kick, de Gruchy. Our information suggests that they are working together, and therefore are together, at least some of the time. Go and find them. It would be preferable to take them alive but, if necessary, take them dead. And there must be no more mistakes. If I cannot see Liane de Gruchy standing in front of this desk, in chains, I wish to see a photograph of her body, unmistakably dead, on this desk. Now go and do your duty.” He smiled at them. “I have every confidence in your success.”

  Two

  Wolfram

  “Well,” Roess said, as they went down the stairs, “we have been given a challenge but, as the Reichsfuehrer said, I am sure we will succeed. However, I think we should lay our plans very carefully, do you not agree, Fraulein?”

  “I suppose we should,” Joanna said.

  “Well, then, as this is highly confidential, I think we should discuss it in private, should we not? We shall go to my apartment.”

  “Sadly, I have things to do.”

  “Suppose I made my request into an order?”

  They had reached the open air, where their two cars waited. “In that case,” Joanna said, “I would have to report to Reichsfuehrer Himmler that, having failed on so many occasions to insert one of your electrodes between my legs, you now wish to replace them with your prick.”

  He stared at her with his mouth open, taken aback by her deliberate vulgarity. “I am sure he would be amused,” Joanna said. “But then again, perhaps not.”

  Roess recovered, although his cheeks were crimson, as he glanced at the expressionless sentries, uncertain if they had overheard. “We are to work together.”

  “So it seems. But not to sleep together. I would like you to remember that, Colonel Roess. When do we leave?”

  “Tomorrow morning, early.”

  “Then I shall report to your office, tomorrow morning. Early.”

  *

  In the security of her suite at the Albert Hotel, Joanna discovered that she was wringing wet with sweat. She ran a bath and sank into the bubbles. Her brain was spinning. The previous year, Weber had sent her to assist Roess in finding Amalie de Gruchy, who had disappeared following her shooting of the German Colonel Kessler. She had found Amalie, because Madeleine had told her of the secret childhood hideaway shared by the sisters. Thanks to that knowledge, she had been able to get the girl out of the country without Roess suspecting it, but that had been by using the haven of Vichy. That haven no longer existed and, in any event, a year ago she had had an independent role, as it were; this time she was required to operate as Roess’ second-in-command. And Himmler was a totally different personality to Weber. Oskar had been so much in love with her he would support her in anything she did or wished. Heinrich was too cold a fish to be in love with anyone save himself. He enjoyed going to bed with someone so well endowed and so utterly compliant as she always was when in his company. But if he ever felt she were letting him down…

  Over the winter, she had actually given some thought to getting out while she could. When, last year, MI5 had felt it necessary to arrest the German agent with whom she had been dealing for the previous two years, James had considered that her position was compromised. He had offered to provide her with documentation to show the State Department that she was actually a British agent and not a traitor. She had opted to return to Germany. Why? As she was no longer employed as a courier, she could convey no more information to the Pound Unit.

  Was she really in love with Franz Hoeppner? If she were going to love any man, she supposed it would be him. He was an utter gentleman, an idealist – that he believed in Hitler was an error of judgement, not a crime, because he certainly did not support all of Hitler’s decisions – and he loved her. But as she now knew, despite Himmler’s bombast, that Nazi Germany was bound to be defeated, what sort of life did the future hold for a man like Hoeppner? And thus, his wife? Did that make her a moral coward? Or was it just that she was hooked on the glamour, and the danger, of being at the centre of events? That like an addicted gambler she dreamed of pulling off one more big coup, such as her discovery of the German plans for the invasion of Russia, which had first made her reputation within the ranks of the SIS? She wanted to be a heroine. In real terms, she was a heroine. But only a han
dful of people knew that. She wanted to be able to scream it from the rooftops when the War was over. But first, there was the business of surviving until then and making sure that Liane did too.

  *

  “What exactly do you have on de Gruchy and Moulin?” Joanna asked as she sat opposite Roess in the train.

  “People answering their description have been seen around the village of Aumont. A man who walks with a limp and who speaks in a peculiarly hoarse voice. You know, of course, that Moulin once cut his own throat?”

  “To end torture by the Gestapo.”

  “And that fool Kluck actually had him nursed back to life and then let him escape.”

  “Kluck was your predecessor as commandant of the Paris Gestapo, was he not?” Joanna inquired in her most dulcet tones. “I met him once, in 1940. He tried to talk me out of making a fuss about being raped.”

  “And he did not succeed.”

  “Have I ever made a fuss? I just wondered where he was now?”

  “Sitting behind a desk in Warsaw, dealing with Poles.”

  “I am sure he will be good at that. Do you realize that there must be several thousand people in France who have a hoarse voice and walk with a limp?”

  “But only one of them is likely to be accompanied by Liane de Gruchy.”

  “Who gave you this information?”

  “Do you remember the name Monterre? A fellow who used to belong to the de Gruchy gang but abandoned them and betrayed them to that idiot Hoeppner, who was then commanding the Bordeaux garrison.”

  Joanna did not know if Roess was aware of her engagement and was thus deliberately being rude, but she decided against taking offence at this moment; there were more important matters. “I remember Monterre very well,” she said. “A nasty piece of work. But I understood he committed suicide.”

  “That was the official verdict. It seemed superficially logical. He was found seated in his van with the top of his head blown off. His own pistol was in his hand, and forensic evidence indicated that this pistol had been placed in his mouth and the trigger squeezed. The gendarmerie had no doubt that it was suicide. But Monterre had a sister, a married woman named Juliette Dugard. She claims never to have been a member of any Resistance group, but she did know of her brother’s activities. They saw each other quite regularly, and he told her that he was mortally afraid that he would be found out and executed by his erstwhile associates. In particular, he was terrified that Liane de Gruchy would return to Limoges and deal with him.”

  “Limoges! Isn’t that where you had your unfortunate meeting with Liane?”

  “Yes,” Roess snapped. “I did not know who she was. I thought she was a most attractive woman who had, well, fallen for me.”

  “There’s no accounting for the ability to self-deceive.” Roess glared at her but she merely smiled. “But she was actually using your lust for her to get herself out of Paris and back to her own people. When she discovered that you intended to leave the train at Limoges and stay with her for a while, she realized that she was bound to be identified. So she decided to get out while she could.”

  Roess was frowning. “How do you know all this?”

  Joanna continued to smile. “Colonel Hoeppner made a full report.”

  “That woman is a devil incarnate, a bitch for the darkest pit of hell.”

  “A place I am sure you know well. But what has she to do with Monterre’s death? Simply because he was afraid of her?”

  “Simply because Monterre’s sister is certain that she saw her, in Oradour, a little town a few kilometres north of Limoges, a couple of days after her brother’s death. She is quite well known in those parts.”

  “And that is evidence that she killed Monterre? How circumstantial can you get? Anyway, why didn’t this woman report her suspicion to the gendarmerie?”

  “She did, and they told her to forget about it. They are all terrorists at heart.”

  “So, are you saying that Liane is back in Limoges? I can’t believe that. And didn’t Reichsfuehrer Himmler say she was in the south?”

  “She is in the south. Not long after her brother’s death, Juliette Dugard split with her husband and returned to her original home in Aumont. She is working there now, in a bar-restaurant, and it was there she saw Moulin and de Gruchy. They came to the village several times, buying supplies. They moved quite openly. That whole area is riddled with terrorists. Once again Dugard reported her suspicions and, needless to say, the local police did not follow it up, but they did make a routine report to the nearest Gestapo office, who reported it to Berlin.”

  “But they did nothing about it themselves?”

  “They visited Aumont but nothing came of it. You know how those fools operate. Anyone of any sense can spot a Gestapo agent a mile away, and they just clam right up.”

  “Aren’t they going to identify us right away?”

  “Of course. But we are not going in undercover. I have been given the use of a Milice Français battalion stationed in Lyons, and I have also been given permission to call in the local gendarmerie, who are now under our control. Once we have interviewed this woman and made sure that what she says is true, we are going to take that whole area apart. And this time, Fraulein, there are going to be none of the problems you seem to have had with Weber’s mission. If we have to fight these people in darkness, then, when we have won, we will wait for daylight to identify the dead and photograph them.”

  Joanna stared out of the window. Oh Liane! Of course she would believe that she was safe in a place like Aumont, where everyone was on her side. Everyone save one. If only she had some way of getting in touch with James, because it seemed that the only hope of getting Liane out of this mess would be an airlift.

  *

  “We’re just about there, major,” said Flight Lieutenant Brune. A short, somewhat chubby young man, he had made these flights several times before, more than once with James as a passenger, and handled the Lysander as he might a fast car on an empty road, so that even the hedge-hopping tactics he necessarily employed when flying over France never appeared frightening. Now he added, “So I’m going up.”

  As no one was expecting them, it had to be a parachute drop. He gunned the engine and the little machine soared upwards. James squeezed Amalie’s hand. “Okay?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said. Like him, she wore a black boiler suit, an all-in-one jacket and trousers fastened by a zip up the front, which fitted over the dress she wore as a French peasant woman (James also wore rough civilian clothes) and, also like him, she had flown with Brune before, when escaping from France. Now she was obviously on a high at the prospect of going back, going home. James remembered Rachel’s warning; Amalie was clearly going to need a tight rein. But once she was reunited with Liane, the one person in the world she truly worshipped, she should settle down.

  There was a little ping and a red light glowed. The despatcher got out of his seat behind them and opened the door. There was no wind but the night air whistled by and the cabin chilled. James and the despatcher dragged the first of the large lozenge-shaped containers to the door, nodded to each other and pushed it out. “Going round,” Brune said. The two men grasped grab rails as the Lysander banked and looked down at the billowing white as the parachute opened. “Next,” Brune said.

  The second container went out, and the plane circled again.

  “Remember,” James said, “the first thing we do is find each other.”

  He moved into the doorway, received another nod from the despatcher and stepped out. As always his stomach seemed to rise up into his throat, but it went down again as soon as the parachute opened. He could see nothing above the canopy, but assumed that Amalie had also jumped, as the noise of the aircraft, distant from the moment he had left it, now faded altogether. Without a wind, the night was still. He looked down into blackness; there was no moon. They had jumped on an old map reference, and he had no certainty as to what was beneath him. It should be the lightly wooded slopes of a hill, but it could
now also be occupied by a German unit. On the other hand, surely they would be showing lights. He stared down and at last made out trees, and peaks to either side. Brune had done his job with his usual exactitude and dropped them into the required valley. Now he could see the crumpled white of one of the earlier parachutes, and it became a matter of avoiding the trees by pulling the cords to and fro in an attempt to guide the last few feet of the descent.

  A moment later, he was on the ground, stumbling behind his parachute as he gathered it in, not a difficult job on an airless night. In a few moments, he had it under control and had freed the straps. Then he could look around him. Close at hand were both the containers and… “Hey,” Amalie called.

  She was caught up in a tree, only about fifty feet away from him, and about twelve feet from the ground. He stood beneath her. “Well, come on down.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “Use your knife to cut yourself free, and drop.”

  “Twelve feet? I’ll break something.”

  “My dear girl, you have just dropped a thousand feet.”

  “And I think I have already broken something.”

  “Cut yourself free. I’ll catch you.”

  “Oh. Right.” A moment later, she was plummeting downwards. He caught her easily enough but staggered to and fro for some moments before he could set her on the ground. “Oof!” she commented. “What about my parachute?”