Citadel (69 page)

A slow smile spread across Baillard’s face. ‘That is the best news yet, my friend. She was so ill, I feared she might not have survived another winter.’

‘I knew you’d be pleased,’ Pujol said with a satisfied smile. ‘Marieta’s still going strong. Will see the rest of us out, I don’t doubt. Looks after those girls like a mother hen.’

‘Good,
ben
.’ Baillard smiled, nodding his head. He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. ‘And Madomaisèla Sandrine and her sister?’

‘They both returned to Carcassonne shortly after you left. They do a great deal to help the
résistants
there. Taking messages, keeping lookout, what have you. Mademoiselle Ménard and her son stayed in Coustaussa for a time, but went back to Carcassonne last summer.’

‘Her son, you say?’

Pujol smiled. ‘Jean-Jacques. Bright as a button, must be eighteen months old by now.’

‘
Tèn perdu, jhamâi se recobro
,’ murmured Baillard, thinking of all he had missed and all that was yet to come. The joy as well as the sorrow.

‘What’s that you’re saying?’

‘Time lost can never be regained,’ Baillard translated. ‘An old Occitan proverb my grandmother, Esclarmonde, was rather fond of.’ He smiled. ‘And Sénher Pelletier?’

‘He, too, has proved to be a courageous man. With Guillaume and Yves some of the time, but travels to Carcassonne to help there too.’

Baillard raised his eyebrows. ‘And to see Madomaisèla Sandrine?’

‘That too,’ Pujol said impatiently. ‘But now, for pity’s sake, tell me where you’ve been.’

Baillard looked into the honest, anxious face of his friend. He raised his arms and then let them fall again, a gesture of resignation.

‘I was caught, Achille. That very day after I left you. A collaborator, pretending to be a partisan. Walked straight into a trap some two hours out of Ax-les-Thermes.’

Pujol drained his glass and poured himself another measure. The air in the kitchen was infused with the sweet smell of cherries.

‘Where did they take you?’

‘I was arrested, one of five or six raids that day.’ Baillard sighed. ‘They asked for me by name.’

‘Why?’

He shrugged. ‘I had done that route many times. Too many times, perhaps. Someone talked.’ He paused, as he took himself back to that day. ‘Two of those I was helping knew who I was – a Jewish scholar, quite brilliant, and a Dutch
résistant
– but did not give me away. I was able to give false information and so was charged under that name instead.’

‘That explains why “Baillard” didn’t show up on any lists,’ Pujol said. ‘I checked everywhere.’

Baillard smiled. ‘Thank you, my friend.’

Pujol flushed. ‘You’d have done the same for me,’ he said gruffly, then waved his hand for him to continue.

‘During those first weeks after I was arrested, I was moved from place to place. It was only after the Germans crossed the line and occupied the Midi as well that I was finally sent to a satellite camp close to Rivesaltes.’

‘So near,’ Pujol said, shaking his head. ‘If only I’d known you were there, Audric, I swear I would—’

‘I know, my friend. Don’t reproach yourself. We were the unwanted prisoners. Too old to fill the STO quotas, most of us veterans of other wars.’

‘Left to rot.’

‘That saved us,’ Baillard said simply. ‘We were not considered dangerous. They assumed that age and the bitter weather would do their work for them.’ He paused. ‘The worst of it was knowing how much needed to be done, but being trapped, unable to act.’

He fell silent, remembering his sense of frustration and rage. The endless tiny humiliations of the camp, the relentless grinding down of men’s spirits. The waste of life.

‘Audric,’ Pujol said gently, misinterpreting his silence, ‘you don’t have to go on if it’s too much.’

‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘If I do not, you will imagine things to be worse than they were.’

Baillard recounted the story of his incarceration and his escape, then gave a long sigh. He took a sip of Guignolet, letting the sugar and alcohol ease his bones, before continuing. ‘We waited until it was dark, then the Spaniard and I went our separate ways. García headed for the border. I came here.’

‘I still can’t quite believe it,’ Pujol said gruffly, digging in his pocket for a scrap of tobacco. He rolled himself a thin cigarette. ‘You made good time, I’ll give you that. It must be a hundred and fifty kilometres, give or take.’

‘People were kind. I walked to Collioure, then found a lift almost all of the way to Belcaire. From there, cross-country to here.’

Pujol put out his hand and touched Baillard’s arm. ‘You can stay here as long as you want. You need to rest. Recover your strength.’

Baillard reached out and took the antique glass bottle from the table. ‘I have rested long enough,
amic
. This task I must now finish.’

Pujol’s expression changed. ‘Not that, Audric. Surely not now, after all this time. Why stir it all up again? Let sleeping dogs lie.’

For a moment, Baillard didn’t speak. He turned the bottle over in his hand, thinking about the precious information contained in the map.

‘Why, Audric?’

He sighed. ‘Because it was announced this morning on the wireless – I heard it at the Café de la Gare as I waited to see you – that Leo Authié is being sent back to the Midi. Although it is said he is to lead the fight against the Resistance, I do not believe that is the true reason.’

Pujol’s expression froze. ‘He’s just one man,’ he said eventually. ‘There are many like him. Leave it be, Baillard. The tide is turning in our favour. Don’t draw attention to yourself.’

Baillard met his gaze. ‘It is true that Führer Hitler is losing the war. And after the Allied success in northern France, it is likely he will pull back troops from the south to defend Paris and the eastern territories.’

‘Well then.’

Baillard shook his head. ‘Do you not understand, Achille? This will make Authié more dangerous, not less. More desperate. He is a clever man. He knows there is little time left. When the Wehrmacht leave the Midi, he is aware of what his fate will be. If he is to find the Codex, he needs to act now and be ready to leave when the Nazis withdraw.’

‘There’s not been a whisper they ever found out the document was a forgery,’ Pujol said. ‘Not a hint of it.’

‘Saurat is dead. He has family near Collioure, that’s why I went there first. His cousin told me he died in Montluc at the hands of Hauptsturmführer Barbie.’ He sighed. ‘He will have talked, Achille. For all his qualities, he was not a strong man.’

‘Poor devil,’ muttered Pujol.

Baillard looked out of the window towards the Pic de Vicdessos in the distance. The fierce afternoon sun blasted down upon the exposed peaks, casting long shadows across the land.

‘Authié has spent the past two years in Chartres, if the wireless report is to be believed. So I am certain, now, for whom he works and what other prize that man is seeking.’ His voice hardened. ‘I intend to make sure he does not get it.’

‘If you say so, Audric.’

‘The story is coming to its end,
amic
,’ he said. ‘This story, at least.’

‘So long as it’s a happy ending,’ Pujol muttered.

Baillard did not answer.

Chapter 113

CARCASSONNE

S
andrine stood by the sink, feeling the cold edge of the porcelain in the small of her back. Marianne was at the stove. Raoul was sitting at the table, his hands in his pockets, watching Suzanne work.

Suzanne placed her ingredients on the table. Forty centimetres of cast-iron pipe, a section of a drainpipe taken from one of the derelict houses near the abattoir in the Aire de la Pépinière. The pipe was already packed with explosive. Sandrine watched as she bolted a stopper into each end, drilled a small hole about halfway down, and pushed into it a fuse that went down into the explosive.

‘It’s a simple, reliable, basic device,’ Suzanne said. ‘A child could do it. There’s two centimetres of fuse here, which will take about two minutes to burn, give or take.’

Sandrine glanced at Raoul’s face.

‘Not much time to get out of the way,’ he said.

‘Long enough,’ Sandrine replied.

‘What’s the rest of it?’ Raoul asked, pointing at the duplicate parts.

‘A decoy,’ Sandrine explained. ‘We’ve done it before, placing two identical devices in locations close to one another – one in the Tour du Grand Burlas and the other in the Tour de la Justice – except one is live and the other one’s a dummy. It means that if anyone talks, the soldiers have a fifty-fifty chance of finding the wrong device rather than the real one.’

Raoul nodded. ‘Good idea. Who’s responsible for the dummy?’

‘Gaston has a friend who works in a restaurant by the Porte de l’Aude, a kitchen porter. He’s going to set it in the Tour de la Justice tonight. It’s the closest we can get to the Hôtel de la Cité, where the dinner’s being held.’

Suzanne turned to Marianne. ‘Is that ready yet?’

Marianne came over from the stove holding the tin saucepan at arm’s length in front of her. Raoul wafted his hand in front of his nose.

‘Goose fat,’ Suzanne said, seeing the expression on his face. ‘Vile smell, I grant you, but the best way to keep the pipe airtight. More efficient than wax. Less volatile.’

They watched as Suzanne greased the pipe, then put the last few components in place.

‘Right, that’s done.’

She stood up, gathered everything up in a tea towel and gently carried the device to the sideboard beside the kitchen door. Marianne handed her a cloth for her hands.

‘I’ll show you what to do before we go,’ Suzanne said to Sandrine. ‘You’re sure you don’t want me to stay? Just until it’s in place, at least.’

Sandrine glanced at her sister and saw the look of resignation in her eyes, then shook her head.

‘No, it’s all right. Better you should go. Take the package to Gaston, then catch tonight’s train. Who knows when there’ll be another.’ She smiled. ‘Raoul and I will manage.’

‘Isn’t Lucie going with you two?’ Raoul asked.

Marianne shook her head. ‘Not at the moment. She doesn’t want to uproot Jean-Jacques.’ She paused. ‘Suzanne’s mother is very fond of him. She helps out with him a great deal.’

‘Lucie should be all right,’ Sandrine said, seeing the look of concern on Raoul’s face. ‘She’s so changed since Authié last saw her. And even if he did go looking for her, he’d never think to try Madame Peyre’s address.’

Raoul nodded, but Sandrine could see he wasn’t convinced.

‘The most important thing at this moment is for Suzanne and Marianne to leave,’ she said.

‘Are you ready?’ Marianne asked Suzanne.

‘I need to pack this lot up, then change.’

‘The train isn’t until six thirty, is it?’ Sandrine said.

‘Yes, but the checks are bound to take some time,’ Marianne said. ‘Why don’t I do this for you,’ she offered, gesturing at the components for the decoy, ‘and you go and get ready.’

‘Give me five minutes,’ Suzanne said, walking out of the kitchen. Seconds later, Sandrine heard the heavy tread of her boots on the stairs.

For a moment, no one said anything.

‘Could you do me a favour and check the wireless, Raoul?’ Sandrine said. ‘Just in case something’s happened we should be aware of. There should be a bulletin any minute now.’

Realising that she wanted time to say goodbye to Marianne in private, he got up quickly and went out of the room.

The two sisters were left alone. Marianne found a canvas bag and carefully put the parts into it, then sat down at the table again. Overhead, they could hear Suzanne moving about.

‘This is it, then,’ Marianne said.

‘For a day or two, that’s all,’ Sandrine said. ‘We’ll do what we have to do, then we’ll join you. By Sunday we’ll all be together in Coustaussa.’ She smiled. ‘Like old times.’

Marianne nodded. ‘Now the time’s come, I can’t wait to see Marieta. I’ve tried not to miss her too much.’

‘Me too,’ Sandrine said. ‘Though I bet she won’t have changed a bit.’

Marianne smiled. ‘I wonder what Liesl will be like? Two years is a long time between sixteen and eighteen.’

‘Raoul says she’s very beautiful.’

Marianne threw a glance at her. ‘Is that a touch of jealousy?’

Sandrine blushed. ‘No, not at all. I’m just saying.’

Marianne laughed, then the smile slid from her face. ‘You will be careful, won’t you?’

‘You know I will,’ she said softly. ‘And Raoul will be with me. He’ll make sure I’m all right.’

Marianne nodded. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been going to pieces in the last few weeks. You keep going and keep going then, suddenly, you lose your nerve. No reason, or rather . . . I suppose Suzanne being picked up, that did for me.’

Sandrine nodded. ‘I know. I understand.’

She hesitated, then decided to ask outright what she had known for a long time.

‘You love her,’ she said.

Marianne met her gaze. She hesitated, on the point of framing the conventional response, then stopped. It was clear in her face that she, too, was conscious of the fact that however much care Sandrine, or Marianne herself, took – however matter-of-fact their conversation – this might be the last time they spoke to each other.

‘I do.’

‘Did Thierry realise?’ Sandrine asked, genuinely curious. ‘Or is it a more recent thing?’

‘Certainly Thierry knew.’ Marianne smiled. ‘It suited him just as well, you see. Harder for him, of course.’

Sandrine frowned, then realised what Marianne was saying. ‘Oh. I see. You were a cover for him.’

‘It’s the only good thing that’s come out of any of this,’ she said quietly. ‘In some ways, it’s been easier than it would have been in peacetime.’

The sound of Suzanne coming back down the stairs brought the conversation to a close.

‘I’m glad for you,’ Sandrine said quickly.

Marianne nodded. ‘Me too.’ She turned and smiled as Suzanne walked in. ‘Are you ready to go?’

Suzanne nodded. ‘All set,’ she said.

The three women walked back into the hall, where two suitcases were sitting at the bottom of the stairs. Raoul came out of the salon to say goodbye.

‘We’ll join you as soon as we can,’ he said. ‘Sunday, Monday at the latest.’