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 Citro‰n, 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!”
CHAPTER 49
FLICK COULD HARDLY believe she had got this far. Four of the original six Jackdaws had evaded capture, despite a brilliant adversary and some mixed luck, and now they were in Antoinette’s kitchen, a few steps away from the square at Sainte-C‚cile, right under the noses of the Gestapo. In ten minutes time they would walk up to the gates of the chƒteau.
Antoinette and four of the other five cleaners were firmly tied to kitchen chairs. Paul had gagged all but Antoinette. Each cleaner had arrived carrying a little shopping basket or canvas bag containing food and drink-bread, cold potatoes, fruit, and a flask of wine or ersatz coffee-which they would normally have during their 9:30 break, not being allowed to use the German canteen. Now the Jackdaws were hastily emptying the bags and reloading them with the things they needed to carry into the chƒteau: electric torches, guns, ammunition, and yellow plastic explosive in 250-grain sticks. The Jackdaws’ own suitcases, which had held the stuff until now, would have looked odd in the hands of cleaners going to work.
Flick quickly realized that the cleaners’ own bags were not big enough. She herself had a Sten submachine gun with a silencer, each of its three parts about a foot long. Jelly had sixteen detonators in a shockproof can, an incendiary thermite bomb, and a chemical block that produced oxygen, for setting fires in enclosed spaces such as bunkers. After loading their ordnance into the bags, they had to conceal it with the cleaners’ packets of food. There was not enough room.
“Damn,” Flick said edgily. “Antoinette, do you have any big bags?”
“What do you mean?”
“Bags, big bags, like shopping bags, you must have some.”
“There’s one in the pantry that I use for buying vegetables.”
Flick found the bag, a cheap rectangular basket made of woven reeds. “It’s perfect,” she said. “Have you any more like it?”
“No, why would I have two?”
Flick needed four.
There was a knock. Flick went to the door. A woman in a flowered overall and a hair net stood there: the last of the cleaners. “Good evening,” Flick said.
The woman hesitated, surprised to see a stranger. “Is Antoinette here? I received a note..
Flick smiled reassuringly. “In the kitchen. Please come in.”
The woman walked through the apartment, evidently familiar with the place, and entered the kitchen, where she stopped dead and gave a little scream. Antoinette said, “Don’t worry, Francoise-they’re tying us up so that the Germans will know we didn’t help them.”