COUSTAUSSA
Sandrine rubbed her forehead. Her headache was bad again. ‘I don’t like it. We should have heard something by now.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be all right,’ Lucie said quickly.
‘Not Raoul,’ Sandrine said sharply. She was sick with worry about where he was, but was pretending not to be. She hated the way Lucie and the others kept looking anxiously at her all the time. A mixture of concern and pity.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I meant Eloise, not Raoul. It’s been three days.’
‘But he’s—’
‘I expected a message from Limoux,’ Sandrine pressed on.
‘There was an attack on a convoy in the Gorges de Cascabel the day before yesterday,’ Suzanne said. ‘They’re probably dealing with that.’
‘Any casualties?’
‘An American died. Don’t know about anyone else.’
‘Does it make it less or more likely that Authié will come?’ Lucie said.
Suzanne shrugged. ‘Impossible to say.’
‘What do you want to do?’ Liesl asked. ‘Should we evacuate the village just in case? Or wait.’
The nineteenth of August, Sandrine thought. Nearly a week since Raoul had left, and she’d heard nothing. Nothing, either, from Monsieur Baillard to let her know he was in position in the Pic de Vicdessos.
‘Sandrine?’ said Marianne with concern.
‘What do you want us to do?’ Liesl repeated.
Sandrine took a deep breath and forced herself to concentrate. She had to wait for Monsieur Baillard.
‘Wait, for one more day at least. If we evacuate everyone now, and nothing happens, they’ll be less likely to leave their homes a second time.’
Liesl nodded, then looked round. ‘Where’s Geneviève?’
‘Couiza,’ Sandrine said.
‘Didn’t we agree we’d steer clear of Couiza for the time being?’
‘Yes, but do you remember, her younger sister Coralie is expecting a baby? Since Eloise hasn’t come back yet, she felt she ought to look in.’
Sandrine turned to Lucie. ‘But perhaps you should go with Marieta and Jean-Jacques this morning? Out of harm’s way.’
‘J-J will be happy with Marieta in Rennes-les-Bains,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m staying. I want to do my bit.’ Lucie was pale and she was clearly rattled, but her eyes glinted with determination.
‘Are you sure?’ Sandrine asked.
‘Quite sure.’
Sandrine and Suzanne exchanged a glance. Then Suzanne stood up.
‘If you want to help, you’d better come with me.’
‘Go with you where?’
‘Do you know how to handle a gun?’
Lucie turned even whiter. ‘No.’
‘Well then. Time to learn.’
‘Are you sure we’re doing the right thing bringing Authié here?’ Marianne said softly.
Sandrine shook her head. ‘No. But it’s too late to stop it now.’
COUIZA
Geneviève rushed to the sink to fetch a glass of water, then back to the table. Coralie and Alphonse’s flat was tiny and airless. Every window was closed and the shutters were latched shut.
‘What’s wrong?’ she said nervously. ‘Have you started, do you think? Is that it?’
Coralie was red-faced and gasping for air. She seemed to be in shock. Her stomach was rising and falling at a rapid rate and Geneviève was terrified she would go into labour before the midwife arrived.
‘Come on,’ she said, pressing the glass into Coralie’s hand. ‘It can’t be good for the baby for you to get so worked up.’
Gradually Coralie’s breathing steadied, but she was still in a dreadful state. Geneviève wasn’t sure if she was frightened about the thought of the baby coming or something else. She didn’t know how long her sister had been like this.
‘That’s better,’ she said, taking the empty glass. ‘Good girl.’ She felt Coralie’s pulse. It was rattling along. ‘Now, what set this off?’
Coralie stared blankly at her, as if she hadn’t even heard.
‘Coralie,’ Geneviève said sharply, waving her hand in front of her sister’s face. There was no reaction. ‘Where’s Alphonse?’ she said.
Coralie suddenly let out a single wail. A high-pitched keening, a sound barely human.
‘Coralie, stop. You’ll make yourself ill. Tell me where to find Alphonse and I’ll fetch him.’
Her sister clamped her hand over her mouth. Geneviève looked at her, at a loss to understand what was going on.
‘Good girl,’ she said cautiously. ‘That’s better.’
Coralie took a deep breath. ‘Dead.’
Geneviève stared at her sister, then quickly placed her hand on Coralie’s stomach and held it there until she felt movement. She let out a sigh of relief.
‘No, the baby’s fine. They go quiet just before they come. Remember when Aurélie was born?’
‘Not the baby,’ Coralie said in a flat voice. ‘Alphonse.’
‘What?’ she said in disbelief. ‘No, he can’t be dead.’
‘On the Alet road. Found his body in the river.’
Geneviève shook her head, struggling to make sense of what her sister was saying. Was it true?
‘The plane dropped the weapons in the wrong place. He went to help.’
Geneviève turned cold. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought that was where Raoul had gone too. Was that why he hadn’t come back? Had they all been caught or killed?
She put her arm around her sister’s shoulders and felt her begin to cry.
‘Hush,’ she murmured. ‘Hush now.’
‘They came to tell me. Four of them.’
‘Who?’
‘Gestapo?’
Geneviève caught her breath. ‘When?’
Coralie didn’t answer. ‘They asked about you and Eloise. Wanted to know about Sandrine. Asked if it was true she lived in a house called Citadelle.’
‘What did you say?’
‘That I didn’t know,’ she said. She looked up. ‘That was right, wasn’t it? They were going to arrest me, but they saw how far gone I was. Let me be.’ She started to cry again. ‘What am I going to do? I’m going to be on my own.’
Geneviève didn’t know what to do. It meant their plan had worked, though she didn’t understand why Eloise hadn’t been in contact to tell them Authié was coming. Was it good news or bad? She wasn’t sure.
‘What am I going to do?’ Coralie wailed again.
Geneviève didn’t want to leave her sister, but she had to tell Sandrine as soon as she could.
‘I’m going to fetch Mathilde from the boulangerie,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘She’ll sit with you.’
‘No!’ Coralie’s hand shot out and grasped Geneviève’s arm. ‘Don’t go.’
‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’
Shutting her ears to the sounds of her sister’s sobbing, Geneviève let herself out of the house and rushed towards the boulangerie, not thinking about what she would do if Mathilde wasn’t there.
She rounded the corner and stopped dead. There were soldiers in the square, rounding people up. Quickly Geneviève turned and walked in the opposite direction. Grey uniforms everywhere, four men being herded towards the bridge, their hands above their heads, the proprietor of the Grand Café Guilhem among them. The other end of the road was blocked by soldiers too. Geneviève turned again and barrelled into a man coming out of the tabac.
‘What’s going on?’ she said.
‘Someone tried to blow up the bridge at Alet,’ he said. ‘Stop a German convoy getting through. Americans opened fire. Commander’s been killed, apparently.’
‘What about the others, did they get away?’
‘The maquisards?’
‘Yes,’ she said quickly.
The man gave a slow smile. ‘Dead, most of them.’
Too late, Geneviève realised what she’d said. She turned. A milicien was stepping out of the interior of the shop.
‘You’re under arrest,’ he said.
She put her hands up. The milicien turned towards another man in a grey suit.
‘What do you want us to do with her, Major Authié?’
Geneviève froze. How was he here so soon? They weren’t ready. Why hadn’t Eloise warned them? Then, the ground seemed to go from under her. If ‘Citadel’ had been discovered – not through the plan they’d put into action, but betrayed – then the drop-off at the Hôtel Moderne et Pigeon wasn’t secure anymore either. Had Eloise been arrested? Or killed?
Geneviève felt her legs start to shake. More than ever, she had to get a message to Sandrine. To warn her that Eloise might have been caught, that Alphonse was dead, that Raoul might have been taken. She caught her breath, trying to calm herself. She glanced around, trying to see if there was any possibility she could get away.
Too many soldiers, too many police.
She looked back to Authié. For a moment, his eyes locked on to hers. Black and cold, devoid of emotion.
‘Your name?’ he said.
Geneviève said nothing. Without warning, Authié drew back his arm and hit her. Her head snapped back. The force of it, the shock of it, sent her staggering.
‘Your name,’ he repeated.
Slowly, she shook her head. Authié stared, then turned to the milicien.
‘Where’s Laval? He’ll persuade her to talk.’
‘I haven’t seen him, sir.’
Geneviève wiped the specks of blood from her mouth. Authié lifted his hand again and she flinched, anticipating another blow. But instead he adjusted the silver brooch on the lapel of his jacket.
‘Put her in the van with the others,’ he said.
‘Where the hell is Laval?’ Authié demanded, looking round the concourse in front of the railway station. Everywhere was a mass of black shirts and brown, the blue berets of the Milice, and he couldn’t see him.
‘We can’t find him, Major.’
Authié had last seen Laval in Limoux three hours ago. While he was interrogating Eloise Breillac, news had come through that Raoul Pelletier had been arrested four days previously. Authié had sent Laval to telephone the warden of Carcassonne prison to instruct him to hold Pelletier there. Events seemed to be spiralling out of his control. He felt a desperate urge to act.
Then, after holding out for several hours, Eloise Breillac had begun to talk, so Authié didn’t notice Laval hadn’t come back. She admitted that the plan was to lure Authié into an ambush scheduled for Sunday the twentieth of August. Seeing a perfect opportunity to turn the attack against ‘Citadel’ by surprising them a day early, Authié had immediately left Limoux to drive to Couiza.
He’d assumed Laval was following in a separate vehicle.
‘Well find him,’ he shouted. ‘I want to see him immediately. Immediately, is that clear?’
The milicien saluted and disappeared back around the corner of the building. The concourse looked like a military encampment. Four Feldgendarmerie trucks and a black Citroën Avant belonging to SS-Sturmbannführer Schmidt, his opposite number. A joint operation, he and Schmidt had ordered everyone to be fully armed. Grenades, bandoliers slung over shoulders, glinting in the sun like chain mail. Some with M40 sub-machine guns, the majority with Kar-98 semi-automatic rifles.
‘Any sign of the targets?’
They had taken the usual step of rounding up the local population as hostages and bringing them to the square. Even so, Authié assumed that somebody would manage to get a message to the insurgents. Someone always did.
In any case, he wanted Coustaussa to know he was coming. By arriving twenty-four hours ahead of time and by posting patrols on the surrounding roads, he would make sure that ‘Citadel’ would be unable to evacuate the village. Authié knew that his reputation preceded him. The more intimidated Coustaussa was, the more likely it was they would negotiate and hand Vidal over.
Authié took a deep breath. This was the moment he had been waiting for. In a matter of hours, he would have Vidal and the others in custody. And he would have the Codex.
‘What can you tell me?’
The radio operator removed his headphones.
‘Reports of two women – one of them matching the description of the agent “Catherine” – sighted in the garrigue to the north of the village. Another two – again, one identified as fitting the description of “André” – have been seen in the vicinity of the castle ruins.’
‘Marianne Vidal and Suzanne Peyre,’ he said. ‘No sign of “Sophie”?’
‘Not yet, sir.’
Authié nodded. ‘Has anyone else attempted to leave Coustaussa?’
‘An old woman and a child in a dog cart,’ he replied. ‘Heading towards Rennes-les-Bains. As per your orders, they let them go. Also, a man and a woman trying to get out on the Cassaignes road.’
‘And?’
‘The report is that they resisted arrest,’ he said.
Authié nodded. ‘Good.’ His orders had been brutal and clear. Except for the very old and the very young, anyone offering any kind of resistance should be shot on sight. It served as a warning. ‘Radio all units and tell them to advance on the village.’
The man nodded, put his headphones back on and started to broadcast Authié’s orders back up the hill.
‘What would you like done with the hostages?’ Sturmbannführer Schmidt asked, gesturing to the several hundred old men, women and children standing in the fierce August sun. A heavily pregnant young woman was struggling to stay on her feet in the heat. A mother was trying to shade her baby with a newspaper.
‘They will remain here until the operation is successfully concluded. This town has supported maquisards and aided partisans. This is the consequence.’
Schmidt nodded and waved his men forward. Six Unterscharführer immediately took up position. Authié gave orders to the Milice, Schmidt repeated the same orders in German, then they got into the car. The Citroën pulled away, past the damaged substation and on to the dirt track that led through the garrigue. Two of the trucks followed, sending up stones in a cloud of dust. The other two vehicles were to approach from the lower road. They would begin rounding everyone up, as they had done in Couiza, and searching every house.
Authié and Schmidt did not speak as they rolled slowly up the hill towards the village. Authié was aware that the insurgents might try to attack the car before he reached Coustaussa. He looked up over the garrigue, then down towards the village. The road was empty as far as he eye could see.
They rounded a bend. He could see a collection of small flint buildings, and then the first of the houses on the outskirts of Coustaussa. Small dwellings and a large whitewashed farm building next to a field of vines. Finally, the first indications that the battle had already begun. The bodies of a man and a woman were hanging from the branch of a holm oak. Their faces hooded and their hands tied behind their backs, twisting slowly round in the heat.
‘A warning to the rest,’ Authié said. Schmidt said nothing.
On the outskirts of the village, Authié saw a starburst of blood on the white wall of the farm building. Lying between the vines, the body of a teenage boy. He got out to examine the body, then walked back to speak to the officer in charge of the truck behind them.
‘He’s not dead yet. Take him to the square with the others.’
Two soldiers jumped down from the truck. Shocked back into consciousness, the boy started to struggle, his feet thrashing on the ground. The soldiers dragged him down towards the village, leaving a trail of blood in the dust.
Authié nodded with satisfaction when he reached the Place de la Mairie. So far, no attack. No ambush. Most of the inhabitants were already in the square. One of the other Feldgendarmerie trucks was parked across the rue de la Mairie, and Schmidt told their driver to park across the rue de l’Empereur, blocking the other escape route.
Authié got out.
‘Women and children that side,’ he ordered, pointing to the war memorial. ‘Men over there.’
The soldiers immediately started to push and shove the prisoners, making no allowances, no exceptions. Old and young, physically able or frail, jabbing and threatening as they had done in Couiza.
‘You expect the attack to come from below the village, not above it?’ Schmidt asked.
‘If they had intended to attack from the north, they would have made an attempt on us already,’ he said.
‘So what do we do? My men are asking.’ Schmidt paused. ‘They have heard stories.’
Authié glanced around at the faces of the German soldiers. The usual belligerence and bloodlust on some, but also confusion and fear on others. The miliciens were the same.
‘What stories?’ he demanded.
‘That the village is haunted,’ he said. ‘That these women are . . .’ He broke off, clearly embarrassed.
‘That the women are what, Sturmbannführer Schmidt?’ Authié said coldly.
‘That they are in league with . . . That they are ghosts, some say.’
Authié felt a wild rage sweep through him. Who else but Laval knew about the Codex? Had he talked?
‘Do you believe such stories?’ he managed to say.
The Nazi flushed. ‘Of course not.’
‘Well then,’ Authié said, making no attempt to hide his contempt. ‘They are your men. They will follow your orders.’
‘But what, precisely, are your orders, Major Authié?’ Schmidt said.
‘To wait,’ he replied. ‘To wait until she comes.’