Jack Higgins – Night of the Fox

Sophie Cresson said, “Come on, let’s get out of here. Bring your suitcases while I get my lamps.” They followed her to the van and she opened the rear door. “There’s just enough room for both of you to sit behind the two barrels. Don’t worry, I know every flic in the district. If they stop me, all they’ll do is take a chicken and go home.”

“Some things never change,” Sarah said.

“Hen, a Breton girl?” Sophie flashed her torch on Sarah’s face and grunted. “My God, now they send little girls.” She shrugged. “In you get and let’s be out of here.”

Sarah crouched behind the barrels, her knees touching Martineau as Sophie drove away. So, this was it, she thought, the real thing. No more games now. She opened her handbag and felt for the butt of the Walther PPK inside. The little Belgian automatic Kelly had given her was in her case. Would she be able to use them if necessary? Only time would tell. Martineau lit a cigarette and passed it to her. When she inhaled, nothing had ever felt better, and she leaned back against the side of the van feeling wonderfully, marvelously alive.

It was noon before she awoke, yawning and stretching her arms. The small bedroom under the roof was plainly furnished but comfortable. She threw back the sheets and crossed to the window. The view across the walls down to the harbor was really quite special. Behind her the door opened and Sophie came in with a bowl of coffee on a tray.

“So, you’re up.”

“It’s good to be back.” Sarah took the bowl from her and sat on the window seat.

Sophie lit a cigarette. “You’ve been here before?”

“Many times. My mother was a de Ville. Half-Jersey, half-Breton. My grandmother was bom at Paimpol. I used to come over to Granville from the island when I was a little girl. There was a fishermen’s cafe on the quay that had the finest hot rolls in the world. The best coffee.”

“Not anymore,” Sophie said. “The war has changed everything. Look down there.”

The harbor was crammed with shipping. Rhine barges, three coasters and a number of German naval craft. It was a scene of considerable activity as dockers unloaded the contents of a line of trucks on the quay into the barges.

“They’re definitely sailing for the islands tonight?” Sarah asked.

“Oh yes. Some for Jersey, the rest on to Guernsey.”

“How do you find them?”

“The Boche?” Sophie shrugged. “I’m a reasonable woman. I don’t want to hate anybody. I just want them out of France.”

“It’s just that we hear such bad things about them in England.”

“True,” Sophie said. “SS and Gestapo are devils, but they frighten the hell out of the ordinary German soldier as much as they do anyone else. In any case, we’ve got those among our own people who are as bad as the Gestapo. Daman’s milice. Frenchmen who work with the Nazis to betray Frenchmen.”

“That’s terrible,” Sarah said.

“It’s life, child, and what it means is you can never really trust anyone. Now get dressed and come downstairs and we’ll have some lunch.”

At Gavray in what had once been the country home of the count of that name, Heini Baum sat at one end of the table in the officers’ mess of the 41st Panzer Grenadiers and smilingly acknowledged the cheers as the officers toasted him then applauded. When they were finished, he nodded his thanks.

The young colonel of the regiment, a veteran of the Russian Front, his black panzer uniform scattered with decorations, said, “If you could manage a few words, Herr Field Marshal. It would mean so much to my officers.”

There was a worried look in Hofer’s eye when Baum glanced at him, but he disregarded it and stood up, straightening his tunic. “Gentlemen, the Fuhrer has given us a simple task. To keep the enemy off our beaches. Yes, I say our beaches. Europe, one and indivisible, is our goal. The battle will be won on those beaches. There is no possibility of our losing. The destiny of the Fuhrer is God-given. So much is obvious to anyone with a grain of sense.” His irony was lost on them as they gazed up, enraptured, drinking in every word. He raised his glass. “So, gentlemen, join me. To our beloved Fuhrer, Adolf Hitler.”

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