CHAPTER 48

MARLES WAS A small town to the east of Reims, where the railway line began its long climb into the mountains on its way to Frankfurt, Stuttgart, and Nuremberg. The tunnel just beyond the town carried a constant stream of supplies from the home country to the German forces occupying France. The destruction of the tunnel would starve Rommel of ammunition.

The town itself looked Bavarian, with half-timbered houses painted in bright colors. The town hall stood on the leafy square opposite the railway station. The local Gestapo chief had taken over the mayor’s grand office and now stood poring over a map with Dieter Franck and a Captain Bern, who was in charge of the military guard on the tunnel.

“I have twenty men at each end of the tunnel and another group constantly patrolling the mountain,” said Bern. “The Resistance would need a large force to overcome them.”

Dieter frowned. According to the confession of the lesbian he had interrogated, Diana Colefield, Flick had started with a team of six women, including herself, and must now be down to four. However, she might have joined up with another group, or made contact with more French Resistance cadres in and around Marles. “They have plenty of people,” he said. “The French think the invasion is coming.”

“But a large force is hard to conceal. So far we have seen nothing suspicious.”

Bern was short and slight and wore spectacles with thick lenses, which was presumably why he was stationed in this backwater rather than with a fighting unit, but he struck Dieter as an intelligent and efficient young officer. Dieter was inclined to take what he said at face value.

Dieter said, “How vulnerable is the tunnel to explosives?”

“It goes through solid rock. Of course it can be destroyed, but they will need a truckload of dynamite.”

“They have plenty of dynamite.”

“But they need to get it here-again, without our seeing it.”

“Indeed.” Dieter turned to the Gestapo chief “Have you received any reports of strange vehicles, or a group of people arriving in the town?”

“None at all. There is only one hotel in town, and at present it has no guests. My men visited the bars and restaurants at lunchtime, as they do every day, and saw nothing unusual.”

Captain Bern said hesitantly, “Is it conceivable, Major, that the report you received, of an attack on the tunnel, was some kind of deception? A diversion, as it were, to draw your attention away from the real target?”

That infuriating possibility had already begun to dawn on Dieter. He knew from bitter experience that Flick Clairet was a master of deception. Had she fooled him again? The thought was too humiliating to contemplate. “I interrogated the informant myself, and I’m sure she was being honest,” Dieter replied, trying hard to keep the rage out of his voice. “But you could still be right. It’s possible she had been misinformed, deliberately, as a precaution.”

Bern cocked his head and said, “A train is coming.”

Dieter frowned. He could hear nothing.

“My hearing is very good,” the man said with a smile. “No doubt to compensate for my eyesight.”

Dieter had established that the only train to have left Reims for Marles today had been the eleven o’clock, so Michel and Lieutenant Hesse should be on the next one in.

The Gestapo chief went to the window. “This is a westbound train,” he said. “Your man is eastbound, I think you said.”

Dieter nodded.

Bern said, “In fact there are two trains approaching, one from either direction.”

The Gestapo chief looked the other way. “You’re right, so there are.”

The three men went out into the square. Dieter’s driver, leaning on the hood of the Citroen, stood upright and put out his cigarette. Beside him was a Gestapo motorcyclist, ready to resume surveillance of Michel.

They walked to the station entrance. “Is there another way out?” Dieter asked the Gestapo man.

They stood waiting. Captain Bern said, “Have you heard the news?”

“No, what?” Dieter replied.

“Rome has fallen.”

“My God.”

“The U.S. army reached the Piazza Venezia yesterday at seven o’clock in the evening.”

As the senior officer, Dieter felt it was his duty to maintain morale. “That’s bad news, but not unexpected,” he said. “However, Italy is not France. If they try to invade us, they’ll get a nasty surprise.” He hoped he was right.

The westbound train came in first. While its passengers were still unloading their bags and stepping onto the platform, the eastbound train chugged in. There was a little knot of people waiting at the station entrance. Dieter studied them surreptitiously, wondering if the local Resistance was meeting Michel at the train. He saw nothing suspicious.

A Gestapo checkpoint stood next to the ticket barrier. The Gestapo chief joined his underling at the table. Captain Bern leaned on a pillar to one side, making himself less conspicuous. Dieter returned to his car and sat in the back, watching the station.

What would he do if Captain Bern was right, and the tunnel was a diversion? The prospect was dismal. He would have to consider alternatives. What other military targets were within reach of Reims? The chateau at Sainte-Cecile was an obvious one, but the Resistance had failed to destroy that only a week ago-surely they would not try again so soon? There was a military camp to the north of the town, some railway-marshaling yards between Reims and Paris…

That was not the way to go. Guesswork might lead anywhere. He needed information.

He could interrogate Michel right now, as soon as he got off the train, pull out his fingernails one by one until he talked-but would Michel know the truth? He might tell some cover story, believing it to be genuine, as Diana had. Dieter would do better just to follow him until he met up with Flick. She knew the real target. She was the only one worth interrogating now.

Dieter waited impatiently while papers were carefully checked and passengers trickled through. A whistle blew, and the westbound train pulled out. More passengers came out: ten, twenty, thirty. The eastbound train left.

Then Hans Hesse emerged from the station.

Dieter said, “What the hell… ?”

Hans looked around the square, saw the Citroen, and ran toward it.

Dieter jumped out of the car.

Hans said, “What happened? Where is he?”

“What do you mean?” Dieter shouted angrily. “You’re following him!”

“I did! He got off the train. I lost sight of him in the queue for the checkpoint. After a while I got worried and jumped the queue, but he had already gone.”

“Could he have got back on the train?”

“No-I followed him all the way off the platform.”

“Could he have got on the other train?”

Hans’s mouth dropped open. “I lost sight of him about the time we were passing the end of the Reims platform…

“That’s it,” said Dieter. “Hell! He’s on his way back to Reims. He’s a decoy. This whole trip was a diversion.” He was furious that he had fallen for it.

“What do we do?”

“We’ll catch up with the train and you can follow him again. I still think he will lead us to Flick Clairet. Get in the car, let’s go!”