TARASCON
Erik Bauer dabbed at his neck with his handkerchief, the flattering August sun too much for his northern blood. He took off his hat, fanned his face, shifting the still air, then put it back on his head.
Bauer was proud to be a member of the Ahnenerbe. As a boy, he had read Wolfram von Eschenbach’s grail writings and the great Germanic legends, celebrated the music of the Minnesingers. Like the Führer himself, Bauer had stood before the Spear of Longinius in its glass case in the Hofburg Museum in Vienna. When the Habsburg Treasures were moved from Austria to Nuremberg after the Anschluss, Bauer had applied to the Ancestral Heritage Research and Teaching Society, under the leadership of Reichsführer Himmler, and finally been accepted. He was one of thousands of scientists and historians all over the world – Egypt, South America, France – seeking artefacts to prove the historic existence of a superior, an Aryan, race and to substantiate its claims. The grail books of the Cathars, the lost treasure taken from the Temple of Solomon after the Sack of Jerusalem, other objects of antiquity said to be hidden within the mountains of the Languedoc. He despised Rahn and had been one of those who’d denounced him for his degeneracy, but he had found the man’s writings compelling all the same. Bauer hoped that if he could find the key, even the Codex itself, then he would come to the attention of those higher in the party.
He was convinced that this particular network of caves between Niaux and Tarascon was not going to yield results. They had been thoroughly excavated before the war with no significant success. Even so, he wished to guard against anyone else gaining access in case he was mistaken. He knew the locals would swarm all over the site as soon as they had gone.
‘Obersturmführer?’
The chief engineer, a stocky, bull-like man, was waiting for orders.
Bauer nodded. ‘Beginnen Sie.’
Bauer watched the foreman instruct his men to place the dynamite charges at equal intervals along the opening to the cave, a little distance from the ground. Once set, another man climbed above and placed three along the upper edge of the rock face. In natural rock falls and landslides, there was usually a section where the rock was thinner. Bauer wanted to make sure there were no weak places through which someone could gain access.
The foreman uncoiled the wires that led to the charge box, then carried the device as far away from the opening to the caves as he could.
‘Ist es bereit?’ Bauer asked. It’s ready?
The foreman nodded. Bauer and the three other men took cover, then the foreman depressed the handle. The dynamite did its work. An immediate crump, then the force of the explosion snaking through the ground. A moment of suspended silence, then the rumble of rock as the cave entrance began to collapse in upon itself.
Only when the aftershock of white clouds of dust mushroomed up into the hot air did Bauer emerge from his hiding place.
He looked at the entrance, now entirely blocked, then nodded.
‘Gut gemacht. You have done well,’ he said. He dabbed the back of his neck again with his damp handkerchief. ‘Tell your men to pack up. Clear everything. We move north tonight.’
CARCASSONNE
Marianne dropped the last of the false identity papers into the sink. She put a match to them, watched the flames flare and die, then turned on the tap. The kitchen was filled with the stink of damp ash.
‘That’s the lot,’ she said. ‘What a waste.’
Suzanne nodded. Her hands were stained black where she had carried each sodden, pulpy armful outside. There was a small patch of earth beneath the kitchen window where she’d buried the evidence, hidden from the Fournier house by the overhang of the balcony. She went back to the sink and washed her hands, scrubbing at them until the last of the ink and ash was gone.
‘What are you going to do now?’ she said, shaking them dry.
‘Send a telegram to Sandrine to warn her about Authié.’
‘What about Lucie?’
Marianne’s face grew still. ‘I can’t believe she’d do such a thing.’
Suzanne put her hand on her friend’s shoulder. ‘Why don’t I go and see what she’s got to say? But I’ve got to find Robert Bonnet first and tell him we’ve had to get rid of this lot.’
Marianne sighed. ‘After all your hard work.’
‘Better safe than sorry.’
‘I know. Even so.’
Suzanne leaned forward, gave Marianne a peck on the cheek. ‘Be back as soon as I can.’
Marianne bolted the door after she’d gone, then walked briskly through the house to collect her purse, hat and gloves. The silence seemed to echo around her. When the others first left for Coustaussa, frankly it had been a relief and she’d enjoyed the peace. Liesl was no trouble, but her unhappy presence cast a pall over the house. Sandrine had been the opposite, rushing around to check the post each morning, then going to the library and the cathedral, trying to do too many things at once. Marieta had been withdrawn and anxious. But now she hated the quiet. And every day, she felt more tired. Less able to cope. If it hadn’t been for Suzanne, she would have gone out of her mind with the strain.
A knock on the front door made her jump. For a moment she was tempted to ignore it, then she heard Lucie’s voice.
‘I need to talk to you,’ she said in a loud whisper.
‘Talk? Don’t you mean apologise?’ muttered Marianne.
‘Please.’
With a sigh, she opened the door and Lucie stepped inside. Marianne was shocked at her appearance. She looked wan and drawn, with dark roots showing through her corn-coloured hair.
‘Your Captain Authié has just left.’
Lucie’s eyes widened. ‘He’s been here already?’
‘What do you expect?’ she said sharply. ‘You could have at least telephoned to warn us you’d blabbed to the police.’
Lucie flushed. ‘I tried to, but the line was occupied.’
‘You can’t have tried awfully hard.’
Lucie lifted her chin. ‘I’m here now, aren’t I?’
Marianne’s self-control snapped. ‘Whatever were you thinking? Authié’s with the police. Deuxième Bureau more likely than not. How could you tell him anything?’
‘You say that as if I’m supposed to know what it means,’ Lucie said, ‘but I don’t. I don’t care about all that kind of thing. He was civil to me, that’s all I know. He says he can help me find Max.’
‘Help you?’ Marianne said in disbelief. ‘Don’t be so naïve.’
‘Don’t grumble at me, I can’t bear it,’ Lucie said. ‘It was Sandrine who went to the police in the first instance. She was the one who made a report, not me. I begged her not to, it’s not my fault.’
Marianne took a deep breath. Tried to get her temper under control, knowing there was a grain of truth in what Lucie said. Knowing she was angry with herself too. Because nearly three weeks had gone by, she’d allowed herself to think the danger had passed.
‘All right,’ she said, holding up her hands. ‘All right, all right.’
‘He knows where Max has been taken,’ Lucie said, her voice threatening to break. ‘I can’t bear not knowing, Marianne. After all these weeks with no news. I couldn’t bear it a moment longer.’
Marianne sighed, then chose her words with care. ‘I understand you’re desperate – and although Suzanne and I have done our best, it’s true we’ve failed to find anything out – but even so, you know better than to tell the authorities anything. It’s why you advised Sandrine against going to the police in the first place.’
‘Well,’ Lucie said, regaining a little of her spirit, ‘Captain Authié said that what happened to Sandrine is connected to the other attacks on women. That’s the only reason he wants to talk to her.’
‘You don’t believe that, surely?’
Lucie’s chin shot up. ‘Why not? He seemed decent enough. I don’t see why you have to mistrust everyone.’
Marianne narrowed her eyes. ‘What else did you tell him?’
‘Nothing,’ she said, quickly. ‘Only Sandrine’s name. And address, but she’d already given that to the police anyway.’
‘You didn’t say she’d gone to Coustaussa?’
‘As if.’ Lucie’s eyes flashed. ‘Oh, I suppose you’re not going to trust me or tell me anything?’
‘Do you blame me? Obviously I don’t trust you. Why would I? There, I’ve said it. Is that what you wanted to hear?’
‘I came here to own up,’ Lucie shouted. ‘I’ve been worrying about it all day, even though it wasn’t me that started it.’ She paused. ‘And I tell you this for nothing. If Sandrine had been arrested, taken somewhere and you didn’t know where, you would do the same. You’d do anything to find her.’
Marianne dropped her shoulders. ‘You see, that’s it, Lucie,’ she said quietly. ‘I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t betray my friends.’
Lucie stared at her for an instant, then ran out of the house, slamming the door behind her. Marianne sank down on the seat of the hat stand and put her head in her hands. Lucie didn’t think she’d done anything wrong. She hadn’t told the police anything Sandrine hadn’t told them herself, and there were some who weren’t in Vichy’s pocket. Gaullists not Pétainists. She had been harsh on her, she knew it. Lucie had never shown the slightest interest in anything around her: politics, the town council, laws and rules and regulations, all went over her head. She’d always been like that.
But for the first time, Marianne was genuinely frightened, cold down to her bones. Everything seemed to be spiralling out of control. The worst of it was, she didn’t know what she could do to stop it. She wished she was in Coustaussa too. At least then she would know Sandrine was all right. There, she could forget real life and go back to how things used to be. Play a game of cards or listen to the wireless. Ordinary, humdrum things.
All she wanted was to feel safe again.