Clash by Night (21 page)

Lysette sat up behind him, clutching the sheet to her bosom. Her eyes widened as she saw him dressing with such frantic haste.

“I heard a noise,” she said, still befuddled with sleep. “What was it?”
 

Becker bent and kissed her lightly. “Get up, liebchen. Get dressed. You cannot be seen here and I must deal with this.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t be afraid. Hesse will take you home.”

“Anton, tell me.”

“The factory in Fains,” he replied calmly, facing her as he buttoned his shirt. “Your countrymen have blown up the factory.”

Chapter 7

Lysette stared at him uncertainly.

“Don’t worry,” he said soothingly, handing her the slip he had removed hours earlier. “I’ll send for you when this is over.”

“Will you?” she asked, worried. Her status as his lover was too new, too precarious, and this calamity was only one of many that could affect it.

“Of course. I’ll send Hesse, don’t go with anyone but him. It may be a few days but we’ll be together again.”

Reassured, she dressed in the bedroom as Becker went through to answer a knock on the outer door.

It was Hesse. “Sir, the factory in Fains has been demolished,” the boy announced without preliminary.

“Totally?” Becker asked. He looked as if he had dressed hurriedly, but was otherwise calm, in control: the same.

“Yes, sir. According to preliminary reports only the shell of the building remains.” They both looked up as a siren screamed past in the street: the civilian fire truck from Bar-le-Duc was responding to the emergency.

“Is it still burning?”

“Yes, sir. And the fire could spread.”

Becker issued a series of curt orders concerning the deployment of manpower to contain the fire. Hesse scribbled on a pad and then looked up when Becker asked, “Was anyone seen around the factory before this happened?”

Hesse looked embarrassed. “We found the guards tied up in the woods. Evidently they were knocked out and brought there.”
 

Becker nodded wearily. “The work of locals,” he said. “I’m going directly to the site. I want you to take the lady home and then join me at the factory. I’ll get another driver for the moment. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Becker called Lysette from the bedroom and she emerged shyly, unable to look at Hesse, who also avoided her gaze. Becker didn’t touch her but merely said in a low tone, “Remember what I told you.”

She nodded, then walked past him with her escort.
 

Becker waited until they were gone, then glanced in the mirror above the fireplace mantel to smooth his hair as he put on his hat.

He knew only too well what his fate would be after this night. He would feel the full wrath of his government for letting a bunch of schoolboys blow one of its pet projects to smithereens under his very nose. It had to be schoolboys, women, old codgers; there was nobody else left. And he had underestimated them.

Becker stared at the dark eyed man who looked back at him, accepting his fate. He would never get out of this godforsaken place now. Worse yet, this success would undoubtedly inspire the rebels to further exploits that he would have to suppress. All of a sudden he had been promoted from policeman to executioner.

In his despair he tried to think of something positive, and his mind settled on Lysette. He would not let her go. He had nothing left: his reputation, his family, his country now in the hands of madmen, were all gone. A man was entitled to hang on to something, wasn’t he?

He pulled down the peak of his cap and went out to face what he must.

When Becker arrived the factory site looked like some Faustian scene from hell. Soldiers ran back and forth with hoses and bucket brigades trying to douse the fire, which burned furiously. An armed guard held back the crowd of curious locals. Broken bricks, pieces of wood and other debris were scattered everywhere, and in the center of the blaze the misshapen skeleton of the glassworks crumbled under the assault of the flames. The air was thick with smoke.

“Get these people out of here,” Becker barked to a corporal, who started herding people toward the road with his bayonet. Becker ordered two other soldiers to assist him and soon the area was cleared of villagers.

“You,” Becker said curtly to a private who ran past him with a bucket of water. “Put that down.”
 

The boy set the pail on the ground immediately, snapping to attention.

“Were you nearby when this went up?”

The boy nodded nervously, wondering if he was going to be blamed for the conflagration.

“About an hour ago?”

The boy nodded again.

“Speak up, boy, I’m not going to hurt you,” Becker said in a more moderate tone, seeing that he was scaring the kid half to death. “I want to know exactly what happened. Can you tell me?”

“Yes, sir.”
 

Becker was listening to the boy’s recital, interrupting to ask quick questions, when Hesse arrived and stood behind him, waiting to be recognized.

Becker dismissed the private and turned to his aide. “Is the lady safe at home?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Did anyone see you bringing her back?”

“No, I dropped her off some distance from her house and just watched her go inside. The streets were in confusion anyway, everyone was abroad because of the explosion. The men are just now restoring order.”

Becker nodded. “You did well.” He sighed and gestured at the burning building. “Our funeral pyre, Hesse.”

The corporal said nothing, mentally agreeing.

“Well, we shall have to do something about this.” He took off his hat and wiped the back of his sleeve across his forehead, picking up a layer of soot in the process. “Start rounding up suspects now,” he ordered Hesse. “Take them out of their beds and bring them to the hospital to be questioned.”

“Where do I begin?” Hesse asked helplessly, aware that this treachery could have been bred in any home or tavern in the area.

“Anywhere,” Becker snapped. “Start with the first house on the first street and then proceed to the next. I will be in my office to start the questioning in twenty minutes.”
 

“Yes, sir.” Hesse saluted and clicked his heels. Becker turned back to the fire as his aide climbed into the jeep that had brought him and drove away.

* * *

Over the next several days Becker slept little and ate almost nothing. His grooming remained as impeccable as ever, but dark smudges stained the skin under his eyes and the hollows in his cheeks became more pronounced. He was smoking his fourth cigarette in a row as Hesse knocked briefly, then entered his office. They had grown short on formality of late.

“That was the last group, sir,” Hesse said. “I just sent them home. There’s nobody else.”

Becker drew deeply on his cigarette. Three days of questioning had yielded no answers. It was clear that most of them knew nothing, and the ones who did were locked as tight as steel drums. Such tenacity in this ragtag bunch of farmers; he would not have thought it possible.

He sighed and shrugged slightly. “Pick up the old man,” he said to Hesse.

“Who?” Hesse said, startled.

“The mayor. Duclos. Bring him to me.”
 

Brigitte’s father. “But sir, he’s a collaborator,” Hesse said quickly. “It’s our policy to leave such people and their families alone. We can’t expect them to work with us unless we protect them.”

Becker arched one black brow. “You are now going to instruct me on proper procedure, Hesse?”

Hesse turned red but remained in place.

“Well?” Becker said impatiently.

“Sir.”

“Go on. Say it.”

“I think it would be a mistake to treat this man like the rest when he has cooperated so willingly and so well. Besides, he’s a puppet, a foolish drunk. What can he know?”
 

“He has a belligerent son and that American woman is his daughter-in-law. Plus he’s a coward, a weak link. I’m tired of playing around with these people. Bring him in.”

Hesse looked at the floor.

“Did I give you an order, corporal?” Becker said quietly.

Hesse saluted smartly and left.

Becker wondered briefly what had made his usually obedient aide protest, then forgot about it. He had more pressing concerns. He had to get to the bottom of this soon. He’d spent too much time on it already.

He sat back to await the arrival of Henri Duclos.

* * *

Laura was in her classroom in Bar-le-Duc, setting up for the new school year, when Brigitte burst in from the hall, still in her student’s uniform. She was supposed to be on shift at the hospital across the way, and one glance at her chalky complexion convinced Laura that the worst had happened.

She was right.

“Alain’s been arrested,” Brigitte gasped, her eyes wild. “Sweet Jesus, what are we going to do?”

Laura grabbed the younger woman’s hand and made her sit down in her desk chair.

“When?” she said. “How?”

Brigitte tried to answer and gulped instead, putting her hand to her mouth.

“All right,” Laura said. “Rest a minute. Take a deep breath.”

Brigitte obeyed and then said, “I just heard it at the hospital. They picked Papa up this morning after you left for work. About an hour ago they arrested Alain when he reported back to the factory cleanup detail after lunch.”
 

“Papa told them something,” Laura said.

Brigitte nodded miserably. “My God, Laura, what did he say?”
 

“Enough, apparently,” Laura responded quietly. It was just beginning to sink in. This was very bad.

“But he doesn’t really know anything, does he?” Brigitte asked, clinging desperately to some hope.

“Probably a lot more than he’s let on,” Laura answered, almost to herself, then regretted it when she saw the effect of the remark on Brigitte’s face.

“Alain will never confess,” Brigitte said miserably. “Will they...torture him?” she added faintly.

“Becker’s not looking for a confession, just a scapegoat,” Laura replied. “He’s different from most of them in that he actually tried to find the people responsible and managed to land one of the ringleaders, but what he really wants is to make an example of somebody.”

“Then they’ll kill him,” Brigitte said flatly.

Laura wanted to reassure her but couldn’t bear to lie.

Brigitte closed her eyes and became even paler. Laura thought she might faint.

“Come on,” Laura said firmly. “We have to find out what’s going on and we’ve got to try to see Alain.” She put the schoolbooks aside and left with Brigitte.

Alain was condemned to death by the end of the day. Broadsides in French and German announcing that the saboteur had been found and would be publicly executed the next morning were posted all over town.

Brigitte and Laura sat outside Becker’s office all afternoon, where they were deliberately ignored. At around five o’clock Kurt Hesse returned to the hospital from the factory site and found the two women on a bench in the hall. Brigitte stood when she saw him and he halted in front of her.

“Mademoiselle Duclos,” he said, aware of their audience.

“May I speak to you?” Brigitte asked, restraining herself with difficulty.

He glanced at Laura, who was watching them.

“Come with me,” he said shortly, leading her to a side hallway where they would be unobserved.

As soon as they were alone Brigitte seized his hands. “You have to get us in to talk to Alain,” she pleaded. “We’ve been sitting around all day and he won’t even acknowledge us.”

“Colonel Becker?” Hesse said.

“Of course, who else? I want to see my brother, and how can I do that if he won’t give his permission?”
 

Hesse shook his head. “I don’t know. Duclos is a condemned prisoner.”

She wrung his fingers with surprising strength. “Please, Kurt, you have to try. Alain can’t die without even a goodbye from his family. It would be too cruel. Will you ask for me?”

Kurt sighed heavily. “Wait here,” he said, and went back to Becker’s office.

His knock was answered with a curt word of admission. Becker was staring at a pile of correspondence on his desk. He looked up and saw Hesse, then gestured at the scattered memos.

“From Gestapo headquarters in Lyons,” he said to his aide. “There is to be an investigation. Standartenfuhrer Kleinschmitt is due here tomorrow.”

Hesse waited silently.

“Well?” Becker said, rubbing his eyes.

“Sir, the Duclos women are outside waiting to see you.”

“Get rid of them.”

“Sir, they’ve been waiting all day.”

Becker raised his head and stared at the younger man. “I know they’ve been waiting all day, Hesse, they’ve been planted out there like trees. What do you expect me to do with them?”