Cold Harbour (30 page)

Craig tapped Priem on the shoulder. “Stop here.”

The German braked to a halt, switched off the engine. “What now? A bullet in the head?”

“Nothing so easy.” Craig smiled. “You’re coming to England with us. There’s someone I’d like you to meet. I’m sure he’ll find you a mine of information.”

He got out of the car. “Grand Pierre?” he called.

There were men up there, moving down out of the wood in sheepskin jacket and beret. Some with shotguns, others with rifles. They paused, looking down, and Grand Pierre moved forward.

“Hello there!” he called cheerfully.

Priem had a slight fixed smile on his face as he looked at Genevieve in the mirror. “There’s blood on your cheek.”

“It’s nothing. Just a cut.”

“I’m glad.”

Craig opened the driver’s door and Priem reached under the dashboard of the car. His hand came out clutching a Luger and she reacted instinctively in blind panic, ramming the Walther against his spine, pulling the trigger twice.

His body jerked, there was the smell of burning, the stench of cordite in her nostrils. Very slowly, he pushed himself up and half turned, surprise in his eyes more than anything and then blood erupted from the corner of his mouth and he slumped across the wheel.

Craig reached for her as she scrambled out and she pushed him away. “No, leave me alone!”

He stood there, staring at her, his face dark, then unbuttoned the black SS tunic and tossed it into the Mercedes. Grand Pierre threw him a sheepskin coat, turned and nodded to one of his men who leaned across Priem’s body and released the handbrake. It didn’t take much of a push to send the Mercedes rolling over the edge of the cliff, crashing down into the sea below.

She realised that she was still clutching the Walther, shuddered and put it in her pocket. “He never thought I could do it,” she whispered. “And when it comes right down to it, neither did I.”

“So, now you know what it feels like,” Craig said. “Welcome to the club.”

HIS MEN STAYED
on the upper level while Grand Pierre went down the steps to the lower jetty with Craig and Genevieve to where the
Lili Marlene
waited.

Schmidt called, “Bleeding hell, he’s done it. He’s got her with him.”

There was an excited murmur from the crew and Hare called down from the bridge, “Congratulations. Now let’s move it.”

The engines rumbled into life. Craig stepped over the rail, turned to give Genevieve a hand.

She said to Grand Pierre, “Thank you for everything.”

“Crumpled rose leaves, Miss Trevaunce, I warned you.”

“Will I ever get over what I just did?”

“Everything passes. Now off you go.”

She reached for Craig’s hand. As she touched the deck, the lines were cast off and the
Lili Marlene
slipped out to sea through the darkness.

Himmler frequently spent the night in a small study adjacent to his office at Prinz Albrechtstrasse. It was four o’clock in the morning when Hauptsturmführer Rossman approached the door with some trepidation, hesitated, then knocked. When he went in the Reichsführer had turned on a small lamp and was already sitting up in the narrow camp bed.

“What is it, Rossman?”

“Bad news, I’m afraid, Reichsführer.” Rossman held up a signal. “This Château de Voincourt business.”

Himmler reached for his glasses, adjusted them and held out his hand. “Let me see.”

He read the signal quickly, then handed it back. “A nest of traitors, this place. I was right, you see, Rossman. All was not as it seemed. And Priem has completely disappeared?”

“So it would appear, Reichsführer.”

“For good, I fear. This French terrorist movement, Rossman. Animals who will stop at nothing.”

Rossman said, “But what does it all mean? What was it about?”

“I should have thought that was obvious. Rommel was their target. A great coup from their point of view, but according to the report on his movements you showed me before I retired, he left the ball early and travelled overnight to Paris. They got their timing wrong, that’s all.”

“Of course, Reichsführer. I see that now. All troops are on full alert in the area. The countryside is being turned upside-down. Are there any other orders?”

“Yes, hostages. One hundred, I think, taken from every village in the area. Executions at noon. We really must teach these people a lesson.” He removed his glasses and put them on the sidetable.

“At your orders, Reichsführer.”

“Wake me at six,” Heinrich Himmler said calmly, and switched out the light.

IT WAS STILL
dark as Dougal Munro walked down from the Abbey to Cold Harbour. He had his umbrella raised, an old tweed hat pushed down firmly over his head, his free hand holding the collar of his cavalry coat closed against his throat. Light showed through the drawn curtains of The Hanged Man, the sign swinging to and fro in the wind, creaking eerily.

When he opened the door and went in he found Julie Legrande sitting by the fire, a glass in her hand.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, shaking rain from his umbrella and putting it in the corner. “Can’t sleep, eh, just like me?”

“Any news?” she asked.

“Not so far. Jack’s standing by in the radio room.” He
took off his coat and hat and held his hands out to the fire. “What are you drinking?”

“Whisky,” she said. “A little lemon, some sugar and boiling water. When I was a child it was a remedy my grandmother employed against the flu. Now it’s just a remedy.”

“Little early in the day.”

“For a lot of things, Brigadier.”

“Now don’t let’s start all that again, Julie. I’ve already expressed my willingness to forget your part in this wretched affair. No recriminations, please. Let’s leave it at that. Any chance of a cup of tea?”

“Certainly. You’ll find a kettle on the stove in the kitchen, a tea caddy and a pint of milk beside it.”

“Oh, dear, like that, is it?”

He went behind the bar and into the kitchen. Julie stirred the fire then moved to the window, pulled the curtain and peered out. There was a perceptible lightening outside. Not much, but a hint of dawn to come. She closed the curtain, went back to the fire and Munro came in, stirring a cup of tea with a spoon. In the same moment there was the sound of a vehicle drawing up outside. The door opened, a gust of wind blowing in followed by Jack Carter and Edge.

Edge got the door shut with some difficulty and Munro said, “Well?”

Carter was smiling, a kind of awe on his face. “He did it, sir. Craig actually pulled it off. Got her out of there.”

Julie leapt to her feet. “You’re certain?”

“Absolutely.” Carter unbuttoned his wet trenchcoat. “We had a message from Grand Pierre fifteen minutes ago. Hare waited with the
Lili Marlene
at Grosnez while Craig went to the Château. They left Grosnez just after midnight. With any luck they could be here in an hour and a half.”

Julie flung her arms around his neck and Munro said, “I always did say he was Houdini come back to trouble us, that boy.”

Edge was wearing a black military trenchcoat over his Luftwaffe uniform. He unbuttoned it slowly, went behind the bar and poured himself a large gin. His face was quite composed, but the anger showed in the eyes, touched by more than a bit of madness.

“Isn’t it marvellous, sir?” Carter said to Munro.

“Highly dramatic, Jack, but very counter-productive,” the Brigadier told him.

Julie laughed harshly. “Craig spoiled your rotten little scheme, didn’t he? It would have suited you far more if he hadn’t managed to get back at all? If none of them had?”

“It’s a thought, I suppose, but a slightly hysterical one.” Munro picked up his Burberry and put it on. “I’ve things to do. You can run me up to the house.” He turned to Edge. “You want a lift?”

“No, thanks, sir. I’ll walk back. I need the air.”

They went out. Julie, still angry, paced up and down. “That man—that damned man.”

“You certainly told him.” Edge took a bottle of gin from behind the bar and put it in his pocket. “Anyway, I’m for a little shut-eye. It’s been a long night.”

When he let himself out, the wind was freshening. He went to the edge of the quay and looked out to sea. He uncorked the bottle of gin and drank deeply.

“Damn you, Osbourne,” he said softly. “Damn you and your bitch to hell! Damn the whole lot of you!”

He replaced the bottle in his pocket, turned and started up the cobbled street through the village.

THE SEA WAS
lifting into whitecaps, rain driving in as the
Lili Marlene
raced onwards to the Cornish coast like a greyhound unleashed. Dawn was staining the sky in the east and when Genevieve peered out of one of the small portholes from the tiny ward room, she looked across a desolate wasteland.

Craig sat opposite, still wearing the sheepskin jacket and Schmidt came in from the galley with tea. “England, home and beauty. Not long now.” He was wearing a lifejacket over his yellow oilskin.

“What’s all this?” Craig demanded.

“Skipper’s orders. He thinks it’s going to get a bit nasty.” Schmidt put the mugs on the table. “You’ll find yours in the locker under the bench.”

He went out, Genevieve swung her legs out of the way and Craig opened the locker and produced a couple of Kriegsmarine lifejackets. He helped her into one then pulled on the other himself. He sat down opposite her again and drank his tea.

She offered him a Gitane. “I suppose I should take care with this.” She held up the silver and onyx case. “It wouldn’t do to get water in and ruin the film.”

“No chance,” he said. “Designed by a genius, that thing.”

They sat there in silence for a moment. She said, “What happens now, Craig?”

“Who knows? The situation’s changed somewhat. You actually brought it off. Filmed those Atlantic Wall plans and, what’s more important, the Germans don’t know. They won’t change a thing.”

“So?”

“Makes you something of a heroine, doesn’t it? And if Martin and I hadn’t gone for you. . .” He shrugged. “Munro will have to like it and lump it. In any case, he’ll
have his own moment of glory. Ike’s going to think he’s a magician when he sees those pretty pictures.”

“And afterwards?”

“One step at a time.” He patted his hand. “Let’s go topside and get some air.”

Water cascaded beneath the canvas screens of the rail as they negotiated the deck. Both the 20 mm anti-aircraft gun in the foredeck and the Bofors on the afterdeck were manned, two ratings on each wearing yellow oilskins and sou’westers. Genevieve went up the ladder to the bridge, Craig behind her and went into the wheelhouse. Langsdorff was at the helm while Hare was plotting the final approach.

“How are we doing?” Craig demanded.

“Fine. An hour at the most. Maybe less. The sea’s behind us.” He looked out. “Going to get worse before it gets better, but we’ll get there.”

Craig put an arm around her. “I’ve had a really great idea. Dinner at the Savoy, champagne, dancing.”

Before she could reply, Martin Hare said, “I’ve had an even better one.” He searched his pocket and found half-a-crown. “I’ll flip you to see who gets the first dance.”

BY FIVE-THIRTY IT
was raining hard at Cold Harbour. Joe Edge sat by his window at the Abbey drinking gin from a tin mug and staring out into the grey dawn morosely. More than half the bottle was gone and he was drunk in an angry, excited way. Not long now and the
Lili Marlene
would be entering harbour. The heroes return, Hare and that stupid Trevaunce bitch and then he thought of Craig and the way the American had humiliated him and his rage boiled over. He poured another shot of gin into the mug. As he raised it to
his lips he paused because suddenly he saw the absolutely perfect way to pay them back. All of them.

“My God, it’s beautiful.” He laughed drunkenly. “I’ll put the fear of God into the bastards.”

He picked up the phone and called his chief mechanic, Sergeant Henderson, who was billeted with the rest of his ground crew in the Nissen huts at the back of the hangar. It rang for a long time before the receiver was lifted at the other end and Henderson said sleepily, “Yes, who is it.”

“Me, you fool,” Edge told him. “You’ve got ten minutes to get the Ju wound up for me.”

“What is it, sir, an emergency?” Henderson was suddenly alert.

“You could say that. I’ll see you there.” Edge put down the phone, got his flying boots and jacket from the wardrobe and dressed quickly, let himself out and went downstairs.

EXPECTING THE
LILI Marlene
in before very long, Munro hadn’t gone to bed. He was in the library working on some papers when he heard the front door bang. He got up and went to the window in time to see Edge drive away in one of the jeeps. The door opened behind and Carter limped in, a tray in one hand.

“Tea, sir?”

Munro returned. “Edge has just driven off. I wonder what he’s up to?”

“He’ll have gone down to The Hanged Man, sir. They should be in soon.”

“You’re right,” Munro said. “We’d better get a move on ourselves so pour the tea, Jack.”

SERGEANT HENDERSON STILL
had his pyjamas on under his overall. He had already moved the Junkers out of the hangar, was just emerging from the plane as Edge drove up in the jeep. Edge pulled on his flying helmet and goggles and adjusted the chin strap as he walked forward, swaying slightly.