Jackdaws (37 page)

They chugged slowly through woods
and rolling fields. An hour later the two French women got off the train, and
Flick and Ruby quickly slid into the vacated seats. However, Flick regretted
the decision almost immediately. The gendarmes, both in their twenties,
immediately struck up a conversation, delighted to have some girls to talk to
during the long journey.

Their names were Christian and
Jean-Marie. Both appeared to be in their twenties. Christian was handsome, with
curly black hair and brown eyes; Jean-Marie had a shrewd, foxy face with a fair
mustache. Christian, the talkative one, was in the middle seat, and Ruby sat
next to him. Flick was on the opposite banquette, with Maude beside her,
slumped the other way with her head on Diana's shoulder.

The gendarmes were traveling to
Paris to pick up a prisoner, they said. It was nothing to do with the war: he
was a local man who had murdered his wife and stepson, then fled to Paris,
where he had been caught by the flics the city police, and had confessed. It
was their job to bring him back to Chartres to stand trial. Christian reached
into his tunic pocket and pulled out the handcuffs they would put on him, as if
to prove to Flick that he was not boasting.

In the next hour Flick learned
everything there was to know about Christian. She was expected to reciprocate,
so she had to elaborate her cover story far beyond the basic facts she had
figured out beforehand. It strained her imagination, but she told herself this
was good practice for a more hostile interrogation.

They passed Versailles and crawled
through bomb-ravaged train yards at St. Quentin. Maude woke up. She remembered
to speak French, but she forgot that she was not supposed to know Flick, so she
said, "Hello, where are we, do you know?"

The gendarmes looked puzzled. Flick
had told them she and Ruby had no connection with the two sleeping girls, yet
Maude had addressed Flick like a friend. Flick kept her nerve. Smiling, she
said, "You don't know me. I think you have mistaken me for your friend on
the other side. You're still half asleep."

Maude gave her a don't-be-so-stupid
frown, then caught the eye of Christian. In a pantomime of comprehension she
registered surprise, put her hand over her mouth in horror, then said
unconvincingly, "Of course, you're quite right, excuse me."

Christian was not a suspicious man,
however, and he smiled at Maude and said, "You've been asleep for two
hours. We're on the outskirts of Paris. But, as you can see, the train is not
moving."

Maude gave him the benefit of her
most dazzling smile. "When do you think we will arrive?"

"There, Mademoiselle, you ask
too much of me. I am merely human. Only God can tell the future."

Maude laughed as if he had said something
deliciously witty, and Flick relaxed.

Then Diana woke up and said loudly,
in English, "Good God, my head hurts, what bloody time is it?"

A moment later she saw the gendarmes
and realized instantly what she had done—but it was too late.

"She spoke English!" said
Christian.

Flick saw Ruby reach for her gun.

"You're British!" he said
to Diana. He looked at Maude. "You too!" As his gaze went around the
compartment he realized the truth. "All of you!"

Flick reached across and grabbed
Ruby's wrist as her gun was halfway out of her raincoat pocket.

Christian saw the gesture, looked
down at what Ruby had in her hand, and said, "And armed!" His
astonishment would have been comical if they had not been in danger of their
lives.

Diana said, "Oh, Christ, that's
torn it."

The train jerked and moved forward.

Christian lowered his voice.
"You're all agents of the Allies!"

Flick waited on tenterhooks to see
what he would do. If he drew his gun, Ruby would shoot him. Then they would all
have to jump from the train. With luck, they might disappear into the slums
beside the railway tracks before the Gestapo was alerted. The train picked up
speed. She wondered whether they should jump now, before they were moving too
fast.

Several frozen seconds passed. Then
Christian smiled. "Good luck!" he said, lowering his voice to a
whisper. "Your secret is safe with us!"

They were sympathizers—thank God.
Flick slumped with relief. "Thank you," she said.

Christian said, "When will the
invasion come?"

He was naive to think that someone
who really knew such a secret would reveal it so casually, but to keep him
motivated she said, "Any day now. Maybe Tuesday."

"Truly? This is wonderful. Long
live France!"

Flick said, "I'm so glad you
are on our side."

"I have always been against the
Germans." Christian puffed himself up a little. "In my job, I have
been able to render some useful services to the Resistance, in a discreet
way." He tapped the side of his nose.

Flick did not believe him for a
second. No doubt he was against the Germans: most French people were, after
four years of scarce food, old clothes, and curfews. But if he really had
worked with the Resistance he would not have told anyone—on the contrary, he would
have been terrified of people finding out.

However, that did not matter. The
important thing was that he could see which way the wind was blowing, and he
was not going to turn Allied agents over to the Gestapo a few days before the
invasion. There was too strong a chance he would end up being punished for it.

The train slowed down, and Flick saw
that they were coming into the Gare d'Orsay station. She stood up. Christian
kissed her hand and said with a tremor in his voice, "You are a brave
woman. Good luck!"

She left the carriage first. As she
stepped onto the platform, she saw a workman pasting up a poster. Something
struck her as familiar. She looked more closely at the poster, and her heart
stopped.

It was a picture of her.

She had never seen it before, and
she had no recollection of ever having had her photograph taken in a swimsuit.
The background was cloudy, as if it had been painted over, so there were no
clues there. The poster gave her name, plus one of her old aliases, Françoise
Boule, and said she was a murderess.

The workman was just finishing his
task. He picked up his bucket of paste and a stack of posters and moved on.

Flick realized her picture must be
all over Paris.

This was a terrible blow. She stood
frozen on the platform. She was so frightened she wanted to throw up. Then she
got hold of herself.

Her first problem was how to get out
of the Gare d'Orsay. She looked along the platform and saw a checkpoint at the
ticket barrier. She had to assume the Gestapo officers manning it had seen the
picture.

How could she get past them? She
could not talk her way through. If they recognized her, they would arrest her,
and no tall tale would convince German officers to do otherwise. Could the
Jackdaws shoot their way out of this? They might kill the men at the
checkpoint, but there would be others all over the station, plus French police
who would probably shoot first and ask questions later. It was too risky.

There was a way out, she realized.
She could hand over command of the operation to one of the others—Ruby,
probably—then let them pass through the checkpoint ahead of her, and finally
give herself up. That way, the mission would not be doomed.

She turned around. Ruby, Diana, and
Maude had got off the train. Christian and Jean-Marie were about to follow.
Then Flick remembered the handcuffs Christian had in his pocket, and a wild
scheme occurred to her.

She pushed Christian back into the
carriage and climbed in after him.

He was not sure if this was some
kind of joke, and he smiled anxiously. "What's the matter?"

"Look," she said.
"There's a poster of me on the wall."

Both the gendarmes looked out.
Christian turned pale. Jean-Marie said, "My God, you really are
spies!"

"You have to save me," she
said.

Christian said, "How can we?
The Gestapo—"

"I must get through the
checkpoint."

"But they will arrest
you."

"Not if I've already been
arrested."

"What do you mean?"

"Put the handcuffs on me.
Pretend you have captured me. March me through the checkpoint. If they stop
you, say you're taking me to eighty-four avenue Foch." It was the address
of Gestapo headquarters.

"What then?"

"Commandeer a taxi. Get in with
me. Then, once we are clear of the station, take the cuffs off and let me out
in a quiet street. And continue on to your real destination."

Christian looked terrified. Flick
could tell that he wanted with all his heart to back out. But he hardly could,
after his big talk about the Resistance.

Jean-Marie was calmer. "It will
work," he said. "They won't be suspicious of police officers in
uniform."

Ruby climbed back into the carriage.
"Flick!" she said. "That poster—"

"I know. The gendarmes are
going to march me through the checkpoint in handcuffs and release me later. If
things go wrong, you're in charge of the mission." She switched to
English. "Forget the railway tunnel, that's a cover story. The real target
is the telephone exchange at Sainte-Cécile. But don't tell the others until the
last minute. Now get them back in here, quickly."

A few moments later they were all
crowded into the carriage. Flick told them the plan. Then she said, "If
this doesn't work, and I get arrested, whatever you do, don't shoot. There will
be too many police at the station. If you start a gun battle you'll lose. The
mission comes first. Abandon me, get out of the station, regroup at the hotel,
and carry on. Ruby will be in command. No discussion, there isn't time."
She turned to Christian. "The handcuffs."

He hesitated.

Flick wanted to scream Get on with
it, you big-mouthed coward, but instead she lowered her voice to an intimate
murmur and said: "Thank you for saving my life—I'll never forget you,
Christian."

He took out the cuffs.

"The rest of you, get
going," Flick said.

Christian handcuffed Flick's right
hand to Jean-Marie's left; then they stepped down from the train and marched
along the platform three abreast, Christian carrying Flick's suitcase and her
shoulder bag with the automatic pistol in it. There was a queue at the
checkpoint. Jean-Marie said loudly, "Stand aside, there. Stand aside,
please, ladies and gentlemen. Coming through." They went straight to the
head of the line, as they had at Chartres. Both gendarmes saluted the Gestapo
officers, but they did not stop.

However, the captain in charge of
the checkpoint looked up from the identity card he was examining and said
quietly, "Wait."

All three stood still. Flick knew
she was very near death.

The captain looked hard at Flick.
"She's the one on the poster."

Christian seemed too scared to
speak. After a moment, Jean-Marie answered the question. "Yes, captain, we
arrested her in Chartres."

Flick thanked heaven that one of
them had a cool head.

"Well done," said the
captain. "But where are you taking her?"

Jean-Marie continued to answer.
"Our orders are to deliver her to avenue Foch."

"Do you need transport?"

"There is a police vehicle
waiting for us outside the station."

The captain nodded, but still did
not dismiss them. He continued to stare at Flick. She began to think there was
something about her appearance that had given away her subterfuge, something in
her face that told him she was only pretending to be a prisoner. Finally he
said, "These British. They send little girls to do their fighting for
them." He shook his head in disbelief.

Jean-Marie sensibly kept his mouth
shut.

At last the captain said,
"Carry on."

Flick and the gendarmes marched
through the checkpoint and out into the sunshine.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-THREE

PAUL CHANCELLOR HAD been angry with
Percy Thwaite, violently angry, when he found out about the message from Brian
Standish. "You deceived me!"

Paul had shouted at Percy. "You
deliberately made sure I was out of the way before you
showed it to Flick!"

"It's true, but it seemed
best—"

"I'm in command—you have no
right to withhold information from me!"

"I thought you would have
aborted the flight."

"Perhaps I would have—maybe I
should have."

"But you would have done it for
love of Flick, not because it was right operationally."

There Percy had touched Paul's weak
spot, for Paul had compromised his position as leader by sleeping with one of
his team. That had made him more angry, but he had been forced to suppress his
rage.

They could not contact Flick's
plane, for flights over enemy territory had to observe radio silence, so the
two men had stayed at the airfield all night, smoking and pacing and worrying
about the woman they both, in different ways, loved. Paul had, in his shirt
pocket, the wooden French toothbrush he and Flick had shared on Friday morning,
after their night together. He was not normally superstitious, but he kept
touching it, as if he were touching her, making sure she was okay.

When the plane returned, and the
pilot told them how Flick had become suspicious of the reception committee at
Chatelle, and had eventually dropped near Chartres, Paul had been so relieved
he almost wept.

Minutes later, Percy had taken a call
from SOE headquarters in London and had learned of Brian Standish's message
demanding to know what had gone wrong. Paul had decided to respond by sending
the reply drafted by Flick and brought home by her pilot. In case Brian was
still at liberty, it told him that the Jackdaws had landed and would contact
him, but it gave no further information, because of the possibility that he was
in the hands of the Gestapo.