Churchill's White Rabbit (18 page)

A train pulled in at last and Forest jumped into the first-class carriage, while his shadow settled into the second-class carriage behind. Further along the line Forest got off the train and hurried to the Pont de Neuilly line, which would take him close to home. Again there was no train so he sat down to wait. His pursuer had followed, but this time he did not sit and quietly wait, but paced the platform, even passing in front of Forest once or twice. Forest suddenly found he was doubting his own suspicions – would a pursuer make such a dangerous error as to walk past the man he was following and risk being seen so closely? Forest had to be sure and time was running out.

When the train pulled in he hopped into the first-class carriage and yet again the stranger jumped into second class. Forest was desperate to test his theory and so picked a stop two before the one he really wanted in order to hop off the train and appear to head for a different line. No sooner had he done so, he doubled back and returned to his original platform. Sure enough the stranger followed and now he had no doubts or that he was being tailed.

But what to do? Time was slipping away from him, and he had barely half an hour before the curfew would make him an easy target for any patrolling Germans. If he made a dash for it no doubt his pursuer would instantly call for assistance from any passing Germans and have him caught. He was certain that the pursuer was also aware that he had been spotted, as Forest’s frantic doubling back would have been enough to give him away. He could not therefore be following to secretly pick up a rendezvous or safe house, but rather was intent on keeping Forest in sight no matter what and as soon as curfew came and Forest had to make a dash for a house, he would call his chiefs and have the building cordoned off and searched. There was nothing clandestine about the situation anymore and Forest knew the next few minutes would either condemn or save him.

Yet again a train came in and Forest hopped into the first-class carriage while his pursuer jumped into second class. Sitting in a corner of the carriage Forest surreptitiously felt in his jacket for his .32 Colt. How often had Brossolette warned him about carrying a weapon? It would be an instant giveaway should he be stopped and searched, just the shoulder holster it was sitting in was a danger. But right now Forest could only feel relief that he carried it night and day. He had made up his mind – there was no choice but to dispose of his shadow.

So where to kill him? It had to be somewhere secluded, somewhere the noise would not attract attention, and he would need to dispose of the body quickly. A flash of inspiration hit him. Jeanne Helbling’s flat, where Brossolette sometimes stayed, was not far from the next stop and right next to a river. A ramp led down to the riverbank where a bridge spanned the water. There would be little light down there and under the bridge no one would see a thing. If he could entice the man into the darkness for a moment he would have the advantage as the stranger’s eyes accustomed to the sudden gloom. That moment could be all he needed to shoot him at point-blank range and dump his body in the river.

Forest checked his watch: there were only 20 minutes until curfew. It would be risky to kill his tail, but what choice did he have? The man had his back against the wall.

Off the train again he quickened his pace, heading towards the river, his shadow close behind. Dodging down a side road Forest could hear a group of Germans laughing and singing marching songs nearby, what witnesses they would be if they should hear anything! Forest slipped the Colt from its holster – it was loaded and cocked. He held it discreetly in his overcoat pocket, ready to draw it the instant he was under the bridge, and then on he ran. Now he broke into a trot to keep his pursuer concentrating and eager. He scuttled down the ramp and under the bridge. In the darkness he drew his gun and pulled his hat forward so that his face was obscured, then he waited breathlessly.

Mere moments passed before he heard footsteps pattering down the ramp. His tail appeared at the base of the bridge, brilliantly silhouetted against the moonlit night – he had forgotten himself in the heat of the chase. What a fool, Forest thought, as the man stumbled forward in the darkness straight into his Colt. The barrel of the gun was against the stranger’s chest and Forest didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.

The man grunted and began to sag. Leaving no room for error, Forest brought his pistol barrel down on the man’s head as hard as he could. His victim crumpled to the ground. Now he just had to get him into the water and make his escape, but even that would not prove easy. The man was incredibly heavy and Forest’s burst of nervous energy had his whole system shaking with the exertion. Somehow he heaved the man to the edge of the bank and with a final push sent him tumbling into the water. All he had to do now was get away unseen. There was no one about and with no time to lose, Forest fled the scene and arrived at his flat with 5 minutes to spare before curfew.

It was only then that the gravity of the situation hit him. He had killed a man, or at least he thought he had killed him. Perhaps he had not been quite dead when he hit the water and had slowly drowned. It was an unpleasant thought, and Forest tried to clear it from his mind. His life had been at risk and there had been no other option; if the man had not been such a fool, perhaps he would have lived. Anyway, Forest was still free, and that was what mattered. He went to bed and slept deeply, utterly exhausted by the ordeal. (In an official SOE interview after his escape from Buchenwald this event is briefly mentioned as occurring during the Asymptote mission rather than the Marie-Claire mission. In his personal memoirs Forest wrote of it occurring as described above. The confusion of dates could be blamed on a number of factors, but was probably a misinterpretation by the interviewer).

More and more Forest found himself having to live his life in dangerously close contact with unsuspecting Nazis. They were everywhere, and more often than not they seemed be drawn to Forest, much to his exasperation. At one of his apartments, a personal bolthole, Forest discovered he was neighbour to a Wehrmacht colonel who was personal assistant to General von Stulpnagel, military governor of France. Forest toyed with the idea of killing him, but as the man always had bodyguards around the opportunity never arose. He had to satisfy himself with the knowledge that the good colonel was regularly exchanging pleasantries with a British agent.

After a much-anticipated visit to the Maquis organisation, Forest found himself in the company of Germans once more. There had been several train delays due to damaged lines (it was a resistance speciality, but an irony when it delayed one of their own) when Forest was trying to get back to Paris after his visit. Finally a train came into the station but it was almost full aside from the carriage marked ‘reserved for the Wehrmacht’. Forest was in one of his belligerent moods and, as he had a first-class ticket and only a German general and his staff officer were seated in the carriage, he decided he would take a chance and flout the rules. Clambering into an empty Wehrmacht compartment he promptly fell asleep.

A short time later he was awoken by a German railway police officer who asked him if he had permission to be in a Wehrmacht-only carriage. With typical Forest bravado he replied he did not, but had been so tired and the train so full except for the Wehrmacht carriage that he had decided to settle down in the unoccupied compartment. He went on to complain bitterly about the sabotage of the trains, how it delayed everyone and messed up French business, and why were the Germans not doing more about it? For the next 2 hours he discussed similar matters with the German, who eventually had a look around the train and found a second-class passenger in a first-class French carriage, whom he kicked out and replaced with Forest. Shaking Forest’s hand as he went to leave, he looked grave.

‘I am sorry you can’t stay in my compartment but orders are orders.’ He seemed rather apologetic and added, ‘Of course I am not at all suspicious of you, on the contrary I have the utmost confidence.’

Then he went to carry on his duties while Forest settled back and smiled at yet another German fooled.

But at tea in the restaurant car his next encounter proved more unsettling. The restaurant car was full when Forest arrived, but he heavily tipped an attendant to find him a seat. The man worked his way down the carriage and finally signalled that he had found a free space. Forest headed towards him only to hesitate when he realised his teatime companion was a Gestapo chief. The man had been pointed out to him as being exceedingly dangerous. Worse, he had been told the chief had been informed about the elusive ‘Shelley’ and may even have seen a photograph of him. It was a stomach-knotting moment, but if Forest scurried away now he would attract even more attention, so he sat down, his appetite suddenly gone.

The Gestapo man observed him openly. Gold-rimmed glasses framed cruel blue eyes and accentuated the duelling scar that ran down one side of his hard, clean-shaven face. He had a sparkle of hostile amusement in his eyes that pierced Forest ‘as though a gimlet were being screwed into his head.’
¹

At the time Forest was unaware that this was Klaus Barbie, the murderer of Jean Moulin. It would have done little to ease his mind had he known the utter barbarism and cruelty that sat before him.

The waiter brought bread, ersatz jam and tea and, relieved, Forest paid attention to his plate rather than his tablemate. However, the Gestapo man was proving rather interested in his new companion. In slow, careful French he asked: ‘Are you going to Lyons?’

‘I have come from Lyons, monsieur,’ Forest answered equally carefully, wondering if his interrogator had already deduced who he was. His stomach was churning as he tried to spread the ersatz jam on his bread and to think of any way to distract the steely eyed Gestapo chief.

Abruptly the train passed by some overturned carriages and trucks, very clear to see from the window. Forest turned his head as if curious and said solemnly: ‘Seems to have been a bit of trouble here.’ Finding refuge in such a controversial topic was dangerous, but he needed something, anything, to channel the man’s curiosity away from him.

‘These unfortunate events are always happening,’ Barbie replied quite coolly.

There was something about danger that tended to spur Forest on and now he cast caution to the wind and decided to turn the tables on Barbie. With feigned nonchalance he said: ‘I am surprised, monsieur, that the German Army has not yet found an effective means of dealing with such acts.’

‘Sabotage is like the black market,’ Barbie said with a glint of amusement. ‘It has so many heads that we cannot strike them all off at once. But rest assured that the German Army will master both these evils in the end.’

Forest was uncomfortably aware that the man could be making an insidious comment directly for Shelley’s benefit. He somehow managed to force down his tea and continued talking innocuously about the despicable thing that was the black market.

When the waiter finally brought the bills, Forest resisted the urge to leave quickly, but allowed Barbie to pay and leave first. With a sharp ‘
Auf Wiedersehen
’, his nemesis rose and left the table. Forest hurried to pay his own bill and follow him discreetly to ascertain which carriage he was riding in. Alarmingly, it was Forest’s carriage.

There was no knowing if he had been recognised by the unreadable Barbie and he was mortally afraid that at any moment a group of Germans would come to arrest him. Forest spent the rest of his journey – 2 hours – standing in the corridor in case anyone came for him, determined to jump out of a door onto the line before the Germans could lay hands on him. The arresting party never came, but Forest made sure to avoid the gimlet-eyed Barbie when he went for dinner. Finally the train arrived at Paris and Forest hopped off on the wrong side and quickly found a vélo-taxi. He made it to one of his safe houses and counted his blessings that yet another narrow escape had been made.

By now his nerves were almost shot to pieces, before he had even left for Lyons there had been another close call when he went to a rendezvous at a blown safe house, though at the time he was oblivious to the fact. Fortunately he was early, and decided to do a quick security sweep of the locale. To his horror there was a black Citroën with German police marks parked in a side street a short distance from his appointed meeting place. That was clearly not a good sign.

Forest casually walked to the house he was supposed to be meeting in, opened the door and climbed the stairs to the appointed apartment. He listened carefully at the door and was despondent to hear utter silence from inside. It did not bode well. He left the house and dropped into the next-door café, from there he could watch all that was happening.

A short time before his appointment the Citroën swept out of the side road and pulled up before the house. Three men charged in. They hastily returned with the protesting house concierge who was bundled into the car. The Citroën left and the men returned to the building. Forest watched miserably, knowing that his contact was in the clutches of the Germans and that a trap had now been laid for him. Paying for his drink he set off to walk home, on the way passing the same Citroën, which was returning to its former spot in the side road.

The net was closing and Forest knew it was time to get out of Paris. It was with great relief that he heard on the BBC Radio French broadcast the coded message that he was going to be airlifted out shortly. Along with it there was an affectionate note from Barbara, ‘from the Sparrow to the Rabbit’.