Stranger at the Gates (16 page)

‘It is!' Louise broke in passionately. ‘It's the most horrible thing I've ever heard—of course we'll help you!'

The point is, that what they did to my wife and child they'll do to the population of every French town and village on the coast. As a nerve gas this one's a beauty. It causes panic, hallucinations, convulsions and death. Its effect on children is the worst. They go mad with fear, they tear themselves to pieces … This is their secret weapon, not the VIs or the rockets. It's Brühl's formula XV. With this they can wipe out the invasion force in a few days. Killing hundreds of thousands of French civilians is just incidental.

‘And we know through intelligence that they're on the point of perfecting the gas. It's not the conventional kind that blows away on the wind. It's a chemical spray that releases its poisonous substance into the atmosphere on making contact with the ground. We don't know how long it lasts, but we do know it's easy to manufacture and can be stockpiled very quickly.'

‘How did you discover this?' Jean de Bernard said. ‘How did you find out?'

‘Coincidence. My General called it the hand of God; he's the sort of man who'd see it that way. A number of Spanish Jews were arrested when France surrendered. They went to Auschwitz. The Spaniards are a touchy people; they didn't like their Jews being pushed around. So some of them who hadn't died in the camp were repatriated. One went to the American embassy in Madrid with a story. There were rumours of an experimental centre deep in the complex; there was a man called Brühl in charge of it. And prisoners were being taken there and never coming back. The word got out that it was gas. And then this woman saw a burial detail. From the description of the corpses, skin discoloration, self-inflicted injuries, and other symptoms, our people realised the guess was right. It was gas, but not the normal kind. Since then we've been tracking Brühl down from the time he disappeared from Auschwitz. We knew the bastard had gone into hiding somewhere to complete the formula. He didn't need any more guinea-pigs. And then we found him.'

‘How?' Louise said. Savage lit a cigarette; he let the match burn for a moment.

‘Your friend Major Minden,' he said. He spoke to Jean. ‘He's no staff officer. That's part of the masquerade. He's one of Germany's leading biochemists. He was with Brühl at Dresden before the war. When we heard he was here we knew the General Brühl at Château Diane and the scientist were the same man, putting the final touches to his project. There are four airfields within a hundred kilometres of here,' Savage said. ‘They'll be able to get the stuff to the bomber squadrons in a matter of hours.'

There was silence then; Savage went on smoking. Jean stared at the ground. ‘What do you plan to do?'

‘Get into the Château. Find Brühl. Without him they'll never finish it in time. And they can't use it in Germany without slaughtering their own people. So time is vital. Once we push through occupied Europe the gas will be no use to them. I've figured out a way to get inside the Château. But I'll need your help.'

‘Jean.' Louise stood up. If he hesitated now … She was surprised at the way her heart raced.

Jean de Bernard raised his head and looked at the American. ‘Tell me what you want us to do.'

Us. It was a committment she had never thought he would make. Even faced with the nightmare Savage had disclosed to them, Louise had feared he might try to find some compromise.

‘I've got to get past the sentries, and whatever security they have inside the Château,' Savage said. ‘If I start shooting I'll never get near Brühl. It's got to be done on the level. And that's where Minden comes into it. He has a special pass; I saw them examining a car when Louise and I went over there yesterday. Nobody gets through the outer sentry post without one. I've got to get Minden's pass. All I need is a few hours, time to get there, go inside and do the job. Then get out and get back here.'

‘We'll help you,' Jean said. ‘Tell us how.'

‘Keep Minden occupied this evening,' Savage said. ‘Get him to stay downstairs and give me time to search his room. That's all you have to do.'

‘I can do that,' Louise said. ‘We all have cold supper on a Sunday night; he often takes his up on a tray and works. I'll ask him to join us. He'll come.'

‘Make it a family party,' Savage suggested. ‘Bring your father down; we'll all be there. Then I can slip out. If I can get that pass I can put it back during the night and he'll never know it was gone.'

‘And if you don't get back?' Jean asked him.

Savage shrugged. ‘They'll be here in the morning. If that happens I hope to God you'll shoot Louise and then yourself.'

‘Very well.' Jean moved to the door. ‘We'll get Minden downstairs and keep him there. We'll give you any help we can. But there's one thing.'

For the first time he looked at Louise; then back to Savage. ‘If you touch my wife again I'll kill you. I just want you to know that.' He held the door open for Louise. ‘Go and find Minden,' he said. ‘He'll come if you ask him.'

He went out of the room and without waiting for Savage to say anything, Louise followed him.

‘This is very nice,' Heinz Minden said. He looked round him and smiled; at the Comte de Bernard and his father, sitting with a rug over his knees and a glass of champagne in one frail hand, at Louise whom he thought looked especially beautiful in a simple blue dress and a long row of pearls. Even at Savage who raised his glass to him. The party, so Jean de Bernard said, was really in Savage's honour. It was a pity Régine had been called back to Paris and couldn't be with them. Minden had been surprised and delighted when Louise came to his room. He could hardly believe it when there was a knock on the door and he found her standing there. For a moment he had lost his composure and stammered, wondering why she had come. The explanation was simple and he found her manner charming. The family were gathering and they wanted him to join them. She hadn't given him a chance to excuse himself. She had held the door open and stepped aside to let him follow her. On the way down the stairs he brushed against her and his manhood surged at the contact. In the elegant salon, drinking champagne with the family around him, the Major felt more at home than he had ever done before. He missed being part of a domestic unit. He had a sentimental character which liked to be in harmony with other people. He forgot his contempt for Jean de Bernard and his dislike of the Swiss cousin; He didn't regret the work which was neglected for that evening; he kept his eyes fixed on Louise and enjoyed himself. He moved towards her.

‘Madame de Bernard,' he said. ‘It is so kind of you to include me in your family gathering. I drink to you.' He raised his champagne glass and Louise did the same. The smile on her face felt as if it were stitched on; she did something she hadn't thought possible. She stroked the seat beside her and said, ‘Sit down here, Major, next to me.' She felt Savage's eyes on her but they moved quickly away. He was talking to her father-in-law, who seemed animated and cheerful. He was so cool, so in control of himself. She thought of his wife and the child, of the hate and agony in his face as he spoke about them.

And yet in spite of it he had held her in his arms, hungry and demanding …

‘My mother,' Minden was saying, ‘is a remarkable woman. Do you know I'm one of eight children?'

‘Really? No, I didn't know that.' She wrenched her thoughts away from Savage, pinning the false smile onto her lips and turned to give the Major her attention.

‘She was so good to us all,' he was saying. ‘My father died when we were all young. She went to work, Madame de Bernard. It may seem peculiar to you, but she paid for my education and my three brothers'. She was a hospital matron in Breslau where we lived. We didn't see much of her, of course; my grandmother lived with us, you see, and she took care of us. But I owe everything to my mother.' He finished his champagne.

‘I'm sure you must be grateful,' Louise said. She took the glass out of his hand. ‘Let me give you some more.' She poured from a bottle on the side table. Roger Savage came beside her.

‘Your father-in-law would like some,' he said. His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Keep him busy. I'm going upstairs now.' With their backs to the room he gripped her wrist, just for a moment. Then she was on her way back to sit beside the Major.

‘Tell me,' she said, turning fully round to him and blocking Savage out of sight, ‘tell me about your father, Major Minden. Do you remember him at all?'

Savage went up the stone staircase at a run. Outside the Major's bedroom door he stopped and glanced round quickly. There was nobody in the corridor; the old servants were huddled in their bedroom on the floor above. He opened the door and went in. It was a similar room to his own, with a solid four-poster bed and ugly chintzes, large and comfortable, with a washstand and porcelain basin in one corner. Minden had scattered his possessions round; family photographs, a shelf of books, a travelling clock. There was a mahogany writing table by the window. Before going downstairs he had stacked his papers into a neat pile; the briefcase was lying beside them. Savage grabbed it, snapping at the lock. Nothing happened. He tried again, pushing furiously at the catch. It held fast. It was locked. He searched on the desk's surface for the keys, but found nothing. A glance at the papers proved them incomprehensible, covered in meaningless symbols. He pulled out the table drawers but there was nothing in them but yellowing headed writing paper and a box of paper clips. No keys. He opened every drawer, felt in the pockets of the Major's uniform jacket and trousers which were hanging, with a twin pair, in the wardrobe. He found a handkerchief and wisps of fluff, a cigarette packet and a box of matches. No key. At last he stopped looking and recognised that any further search was useless. There was no reason for Minden to hide the key. He felt he was among friends. He had left his papers on the table. The briefcase was probably self-locking. Obviously he must have the key on him. Savage looked round quickly, making sure he hadn't left anything disturbed. The room seemed exactly as it had when he came in. He closed the door and hurried back to the salon.

Minden was deep in conversation with Louise; Savage dropped into the seat beside the Comte. When Jean de Bernard looked across at him he shook his head.

A little before ten o'clock the old Comte signalled that he was tired. Immediately Jean de Bernard helped him up, Minden came over to say goodnight and Louise kissed him. ‘I'll come up with you,' she said to Jean. Each took him by the arm and guided him out of the room.

‘I have enjoyed myself,' the Major said. ‘What a delightful family they are—ah, it makes me miss my own!'

‘Perhaps you'll be with them soon,' Savage suggested.

‘Perhaps,' he agreed. His right hand came up and fumbled with the scarf he wore tucked into his shirt neck. Between his fingers there gleamed a metal chain. As Savage watched he drew it out, playing with it. ‘My wife gave me this,' he said. He showed Savage a locket held between finger and thumb. ‘I keep her picture in it.' Beside the locket he dangled, hung a key. Savage lifted his eyes slowly from it to the Major's face.

‘How nice,' he said, ‘to have a memento like that.' Just then Louise and Jean came back into the room. He could see by the Comte's face that his message of failure had been passed on to Louise.

The Major sat on with them for another hour. To Louise the time seemed to crawl; her head ached with tension, the effort to keep up a conversation drained her now that the reason for it was gone. She watched her husband with amazement.

He laughed, he encouraged Minden to talk more and more about himself, he exerted his charm until she felt the German would stay up all night. Yet he was being very clever. It had been a party and parties did not suddenly tail off into embarrassed gloom. Savage avoided her anxious signals; he too was playing his part, only she was failing, overcome by worry and the knowledge of his failure.

‘You look a little tired,' her husband said kindly. She had no idea how white and strained she appeared. ‘Go up to bed; we men may sit and talk for a while.' Gratefully she followed his suggestion. As she said good night to Savage, his lips formed a single word. Wait. She lay on her bed fully dressed until she heard him come to the door.

‘You couldn't find it?'

‘No. But I know where it is.' She watched him come towards her. He dropped on the end of the bed, close enough to reach out and touch her, but he didn't move. ‘It's round his bloody neck,' he said. ‘I saw it tonight. I've got to get it off him.'

‘You can't,' Louise said. ‘If he's wearing it round his neck it's impossible. Why can't you break the lock?'

‘And have him find it had been forced? He may fancy you, but not enough to let something like that pass. You'd have the S.S. coming here.'

‘What are you going to do?' she asked him.

‘Try to get it when he's asleep. He may take it off at night.'

‘It's too dangerous,' Louise said slowly. ‘If he wakes up and catches you …'

‘I'll kill him,' Savage said. He searched his pocket for a cigarette and swore because his case was empty.

‘And that will certainly bring the S.S. to St. Blaize,' she said. ‘You can't do that. There is another way.' She got up and brought the cigarettes from the silver box on her dressing table. Over the flame Savage looked up at her.

‘How? How else?'

‘I'll get it for you,' she said quietly. ‘Go upstairs and wait for me.'

‘There's only one way you could get it,' Savage said. ‘I don't want you to do it.'

‘I'm thinking of the children. Children like Paul and Sophie, dying in agony. Tearing themselves, going insane. I'll get that key for you. Just go and wait.' She got up and began to unfasten her dress. Savage reached out and held her arm. She pulled away from him. ‘No,' she said. ‘Don't touch me. Do as I've asked you. Go away. I'll bring it to you as soon as I can.'