Citadel (51 page)

‘So that’s how it is,’ said Lucie.

From the look on her face, Sandrine knew she was thinking of Max and wondering what he’d endured.

The girls stepped out on to the road and slowly continued their approach to the camp. Sandrine started to hope they wouldn’t get past the gatehouse. Not better maybe, but certainly easier for Lucie. Max had only been at Le Vernet for a few weeks, but he was a gentle man, a musician. How would he have fared?

The sound of running feet broke into Sandrine’s reflections. She instinctively stepped out of sight again, pulling Lucie with her, into the silver shadow of a copse of birch trees.

‘
Un-deux, un-deux
.’

The guards’ coarse orders kept the troop in step, about thirty men in all. Each had his head shaved. Each carried a spade. All of them were in rags, clothes encrusted with dirt or grown tatty through constant wear. Some had slippers on their feet, others shoes with their toes sticking out of the end, some rubber galoshes over bare feet. The expression on their grey, filthy faces was of apathy and defeat. They looked like convicts.

‘One-two, one-two.’

The steady rhythm of the men’s feet echoed away up the hill, overtaking the column of prisoners.

‘What if,’ Lucie said in a quiet voice, ‘just by turning up we make it worse for Max?’

‘I don’t know.’ Sandrine wanted more than anything to turn back, but knew Lucie would never forgive herself if they did. Neither would she. ‘It can’t be much further.’

They walked for a few minutes more, then rounded a final bend in the road. Ahead of them was the camp. A wide central gate and a barrier with a guardhouse and sentry box to the side. Acres of barbed-wire fencing surrounded the enclosure, punctuated only by high search towers. Above the gate was a wooden sign:
CAMP DU VERNET
. Visible behind the chicane of barriers, three separate rows of wire separating the camp from the outside world, and the different sections from one another.

And behind the wires, wretched huddles of men, skin and bone, all with the same shaved heads and dull expressions as the chain gang that had passed them on the road.

Row after row of wooden huts with shallow pitched roofs, stretching endlessly into the distance like a hall of mirrors in a fairground. The huts were long and narrow, like animal shelters, and seemed to be built from plank, with some kind of waterproof covering in place of a roof. No windows that Sandrine could see, only rectangular spaces cut out of the planks to serve as crude shutters.

With every step closer they took, Sandrine expected a shot to ring out. She had to force herself not to pull her white handkerchief from her sleeve and wave it.

‘Here goes nothing,’ said Lucie.

Sandrine was astonished at how Lucie adopted a role. Patting her hair, exaggerating the sway of her hips as they covered the last few metres in the full glare of the soldiers and guards. One wolf-whistled, another called out to Lucie to blow him a kiss. She winked, encouraging a volley of catcalls and lewd suggestions as they walked up to the sentry box.

‘Are you lost, ladies?’ the guard said with a leer.

Lucie gave her dazzling smile. ‘Actually, we’re in the right place, Lieutenant. We’ve walked all the way from the village.’

His eyes ran over Sandrine, then back to Lucie.

‘And why’s that, mademoiselle?’

‘I have a parcel to deliver.’

The guard looked at her in disbelief, then at his colleague, and the two men laughed.

‘You can’t just walk up and deliver a package.’

Lucie’s blue eyes flared wide. ‘Well, isn’t that the ticket. We were on the train with two lawyers, Parisians. They said if I brought it in person, you were sure to take it in. That you were in a position to make a decision like that.’

The compliments dropped like pearls from Lucie’s lips.

‘I’m sure you do have the authority, Lieutenant,’ she said, tilting her head to one side. ‘It’s only a parcel and a letter. You can open it if you like, I wouldn’t mind. There’s nothing of a . . . personal nature, if you know what I mean.’

She winked again, and, despite the nerves in her stomach, Sandrine had to force herself not to smile as the soldier turned pink.

‘I wish I could help, mademoiselle. I would. But we’ve a new consignment of prisoners just arriving. Everyone’s busy. And visitors from Carcassonne expected any minute now.’

In the camp behind them, another guard shouted out. Sandrine didn’t hear what he said, but the young lieutenant turned from pink to red. Lucie, however, had heard. Sandrine saw embarrassment flicker in her eyes, quickly hidden.

‘Tell your friend that if he wants to come down here and put things to the test, I’m sure we can oblige.’ She leant forward and whispered to the lieutenant, ‘Though between you and me, kid, I don’t think he’s got it in him.’

For a moment, the boy behind the uniform was revealed. He laughed, embarrassed yet delighted. Then, as quickly as the moment had come, the smile fell from his face. He stood to attention.

Sandrine noticed that everyone was suddenly alert. She turned to see a black Citroën slowly picking its way through the potholes in the road.

‘The visitors from Carcassonne,’ she said under her breath.

The guard saluted as the car stopped at the gatehouse. The driver wound down his window. A pass was handed over for inspection. There was a single passenger in the back seat.

‘The Commandant is expecting us,’ the driver said.

The lieutenant nodded, and signalled to his colleague inside the sentry box to open the barrier, clapping his hands to hurry him up. Lucie and Sandrine stood back as the car purred forward. Then, abruptly, it braked. The guard ran after it and leant in through the driver’s window. A few words were exchanged, then he turned to look at the two women. The Citroën reversed back to them.

‘What’s going on?’ Lucie whispered.

‘I don’t know.’

The rear door opened and a man in a grey suit got out. Sandrine had no idea who it was, but she heard Lucie catch her breath.

‘Captain Authié,’ Lucie said, stepping forward. ‘This is a coincidence.’

Sandrine’s heart started to hammer in her chest. The man who’d promised to help Lucie, who’d been hunting her. The man who, if Marianne’s suspicions were right, was responsible for everything that had happened to Raoul. A very dangerous man.

‘Mademoiselle Ménard, it is something of a surprise to see you here.’

‘I am here to deliver a letter to my fiancé,’ Lucie said firmly.

‘I see.’ He turned to Sandrine. ‘And this is?’

She held out her hand, not seeing that she could do anything else.

‘Sandrine Vidal,’ she said, meeting his gaze.

He barely reacted, though she saw sharp interest in his eyes. ‘That is rather more of a coincidence.’

Sandrine did her best to smile. ‘It is?’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m sure Mademoiselle Ménard and your sister have told you what efforts I’ve made to talk to you in Carcassonne. Now here you are.’

‘You promised to help,’ Lucie said.

‘I am here, Mademoiselle Ménard.’

‘So you hadn’t forgotten?’ she said, relief and hope flooding her voice. ‘Well, since we are here, is it at all possible you could arrange for me to see him? I would be so grateful, Captain Authié.’

‘Or at least ensure that Mademoiselle Ménard’s parcel reaches Monsieur Blum?’ Sandrine put in.

She felt his cool grey eyes slide over her. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said. ‘If you ladies would care to accompany me.’

Lucie didn’t hesitate, climbing into the back seat of the car. Sandrine didn’t move, not sure what to do. Warning bells were ringing in her head, but she couldn’t see she had a choice.

‘Mademoiselle Vidal,’ said Authié, holding open the door for her.

It sounded like an order. Sandrine felt her insides turn to water. She didn’t know how to avoid getting in the car without provoking Authié’s suspicions. She paused, then climbed in beside Lucie.

Authié slammed the door, got into the front and the driver started the car. They drove forward into Le Vernet. The metal gates clattered shut behind them.

Chapter 90

I
n the centre of the camp was a large open space where hundreds of men with shaven heads were working the dust-dry ground, each with a pickaxe or a shovel. Most were stripped to the waist, shoulders red in the fierce sun. All around the periphery, the same sullen
gardes mobiles
and police flicking at their boots with their leather crops. The prisoners worked in silence.

Lucie was chattering to Captain Authié, expending her energy on being charming. She wasn’t talking about Max, but rather asking Authié about himself. What was his position, what had he done before the war? Authié listened and responded pleasantly enough. Sandrine didn’t know if it was an act or if Lucie did trust him, despite everything, but she felt her nails digging into her palms. She was terrified Lucie might let out where they had come from, even though she had stressed and stressed again the importance of being discreet. She prayed she wouldn’t get carried away and say too much.

‘It sounds quite a journey,’ Authié was saying. ‘I hope this fiancé of yours appreciates the effort you have gone to on his behalf.’

‘He will,’ said Lucie. ‘And he’ll be grateful for your help.’

They stopped at a tidy brick structure with two windows either side of the door, clearly an administrative building. The two guards stood to attention. The driver opened the door for Authié and followed him into the building, leaving Lucie and Sandrine sitting in the back of the car.

‘What an extraordinary piece of luck,’ Lucie said.

‘It might be,’ Sandrine said in a low voice, ‘but be careful. I don’t believe for a moment that Max is the reason Captain Authié is here.’

‘Neither do I,’ Lucie said, ‘but it’s the best piece of luck all the same.’

They continued to wait. The door of the office remained closed. The air rang with the sound of pickaxes striking the stony and parched land, the oppressive huts stretching out as far as she could see, and everywhere the endless barbed wire, three layers thick, with trenches in between, furrows of dried brown dirt. Hell on earth was how Raoul had described the camps at Rivesaltes and Argelès. Until now, Sandrine had thought he was exaggerating.

‘I need some air,’ she said, opening the door and getting out of the car.

She stood beside the Citroën, looking around. Behind the administrative block stood a patient, silent line of men with luggage, blankets and coats, the prisoners from the train, she realised. Despite the ferocious sun, Sandrine wrapped her arms around herself, to protect herself from the chill seeping into her bones.

Lucie also got out of the car. She was very pale again and Sandrine hoped she wasn’t going to be sick. Finally, when Sandrine had started to give up on anything happening, the door opened and a soldier beckoned them inside.

‘This is it,’ Lucie whispered. Sandrine squeezed her hand, but didn’t answer.

They followed him up the steps and into a bare office with a wooden desk, two metal filing cabinets and three chairs. Authié was sitting in one, though he got up as the girls entered. On the far side of the desk, a heavy-set man in uniform remained in his seat. On the wall behind him was a large paper map of the camp, the various sections marked in different-coloured ink.

‘I’ve been explaining your situation to the Commandant,’ Authié said, ‘and although it is irregular – you shouldn’t be here at all – he has kindly agreed to make an exception on this occasion. He will allow you, Mademoiselle Ménard, to see Blum for five minutes. They are going to fetch him now.’

Lucie’s blue eyes shone with gratitude. ‘Captain Authié, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.’

‘It is not me you should be thanking,’ Authié said, smiling at the Commandant. ‘It is under the condition that I sit in on the interview. I hope that will not be too uncomfortable for you.’

‘If the Commandant thinks it necessary,’ Lucie replied, ‘then of course you must.’

‘Standard practice,’ the Commandant said. ‘In these “exceptional” circumstances Captain Authié has mentioned.’

The telephone rang. The Commandant stretched forward. ‘Yes?’ He nodded. ‘Yes, good.’ He dropped the receiver back in its cradle. ‘Blum is here. Next door.’

‘Thank you,’ Authié said, standing up. ‘Mademoiselle Vidal, if you might be so good as to wait in the car. We don’t wish to cause the Commandant any more inconvenience than is strictly necessary.’

There was a knock on the door and a police officer came into the room and saluted.

The Commandant pushed himself out of his chair. ‘Over to you, Authié. Five minutes, no more.’

‘Mademoiselle Ménard?’ Authié said, opening the door for Lucie to go through.

Lucie looked vulnerable. Sandrine smiled at her, trying to give her courage, watching until she was out of sight. Then, she went back outside, as she’d been asked to do.

Certain she would go mad if she had to wait in the confined atmosphere of the car – there was something claustrophobic about the smell of the overheated leather and the lingering scent of old tobacco – she stood beside the open door.

The driver was half leaning, half sitting on the bonnet. He pulled a cigarette from a packet in his pocket. Sandrine heard the scratch of the match, then a sigh as he exhaled. A white trail of smoke drifted in her direction.

Although she was worried about how Lucie might be holding up, Sandrine was grateful for time to marshal her thoughts. Monsieur Baillard’s plan was to set a rumour running, then for her to talk about the forged Codex at Antoine’s funeral. His reasoning was that if Antoine’s murderers weren’t in Tarascon already, they were likely to turn up for the funeral. Authié certainly – the man Raoul knew as Leo Coursan – as well as others. If there were others. Monsieur Baillard clearly believed that at least two rival groups were seeking the Codex.

Now here, at Le Vernet, was an unexpected opportunity to set her part of the plan in motion four days early. Sandrine frowned. If Raoul and Monsieur Baillard had hidden the forgery already, as planned – and she could get a message to them to let them know to be on their guard immediately – then all would be well.