Agent in the shadows, p.27
Agent in the Shadows, page 27
His chance came sooner than he thought: ahead of them was a gap in a fence leading to the back of a marshalling yard and the woman’s pace had slowed so he hurried up. As soon as he reached her, he bundled her behind the fence and pushed her out of sight of the road. She looked confused and terrified and fumbled with her handbag, which he pulled away from her. He was about to ask her who she was when she started to scream. He punched her so hard she went sprawling in the rubble. By the time he’d jumped on top of her his knife was already out. He slashed at her throat, so hard she was almost decapitated.
He heard a shout from the road and ran off, not risking turning around, dropping the woman’s handbag. He just managed to get across the tracks before a goods train passed, meaning his escape was assured. Minutes later he was sitting in a pew in the shadows at the back of Église de Dominicains, recovering his breath and gathering his thoughts.
It had been too close a call.
Georges Moreau would now disappear forever.
There would be no more Source Armand.
He would never see his mother again.
No one would ever find him.
Chapter 29
Lyon
March 1944
Madame Madelaine was far from her usual unflappable self when she arrived at the apartment on Boulevard du Nord that Sunday evening. Siegfried asked her if something was the matter and she ignored his question, asking instead whether Jack was awake. Sophia explained he’d been given something to help him sleep and Madame Madelaine said that was probably for the best and they must listen to her carefully.
‘There has been a catastrophe.’
She glared at them as if inviting guesses as to the nature of this catastrophe.
‘Agnes Kléber has been killed.’ She held out her hands to emphasise the gravity of the situation.
‘Agnes… are you sure?’
‘Of course I am sure! Do you really think I’d risk my life coming here if I wasn’t sure? We have a very reliable contact at Part-Dieu police station who got in touch with me this afternoon to say the body of a woman was discovered in some wasteland near the railway marshalling yard off Boulevard de la Part-Dieu. It would appear a passer-by heard a commotion behind a fence and saw a man attacking a woman. The man ran away, across the tracks, and managed to escape. When the police arrived, they discovered the woman’s throat had been cut. The man dropped her handbag when he fled and when they opened it, they not only discovered who she was and where she worked but they also found the Webley revolver we’d given her. It will link her to the Resistance, it was one of the ones we got from the British. I mean…’
She shook her head in astonishment. ‘It was for her protection, not to walk around the streets of Lyon with. What on earth was the woman thinking? She always gave the impression that she knew best. At first the police thought it was a case of robbery, but of course as it involves an employee of the Gestapo it’s out of their hands now. I have no idea what she was doing there and who the man was but it’s a disaster – and a tragedy, of course. And now we have no one in Avenue Berthelot!’
‘She told you about Source Armand?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The French Gestapo man – Dupont – gave me a lead on who he was: that he’d been at school with him.’
‘When did you find this out?’
‘The first of March, just before we rescued Jack, so – ten days ago? I told Agnes the next day. She said she was going to tell you about it.’
‘And you didn’t think to mention it since then?’
‘I assumed she’d told you – it didn’t occur to me she wouldn’t have done so. And there were other things on my mind. I imagined you were working on finding out who he was.’
Madame Madelaine looked furious. She stood up and paced the room and when she sat down, she told Sophia to tell her the whole story from the beginning, to leave nothing out. Once Sophia had finished, they all agreed that Agnes had most probably decided this was something she could investigate herself.
‘We will have to be even more careful, but at least we now know what you know, if you follow me: that Source Armand was in the same class as Dupont and shared a desk with him. The records will be at the Hôtel de Ville. We will look for him there.’
‘It does rather sound,’ said Siegfried, ‘as if Agnes got to him first.’
* * *
They arrested René Dupont when he arrived for work at Avenue Berthelot that Wednesday morning, 15 March. As he’d entered the building with a milice colleague they’d joked about it being the Ides of March and how they’d need to be careful that day and Dupont had opened his coat to reveal his new Walther PPK he’d been issued with the week before, the so-called police pistol.
It was only then that they noticed Otto Winter standing in the reception area, flanked by two SS officers. Winter said Dupont should hand over his weapon and follow him.
He was taken down to the dungeon area where he was told to remove his clothes and place everything on a table and when he asked if that included his Gestapo badge he was told, ‘Especially the Gestapo badge.’
He spent the next hour in a damp cell, the discomfort of his rough prison uniform the least of his worries. At first, he was too shocked to think anything and then he realised tears were running down his face and he was terrified they’d see him like that because they’d see that as evidence of his guilt, though he couldn’t think of anything he could possibly be guilty of, unless patriotism was now a crime.
He was brought into an interrogation room and made to stand handcuffed in front of Otto Winter. Barbie’s aide looked him up and down and asked him if he knew why he was there and he shook his head and felt tears welling in his eyes again.
‘Over three weeks ago, Dupont, you were instructed by Herr Barbie to cease all contact with Source Armand and told that from then on, he would be handled exclusively by him. You recall?’
Dupont nodded. He felt himself swaying.
‘Source Armand has disappeared. We were in contact with him last Friday. Since Monday morning there has been no trace of him. Nothing.’
René Dupont said he was very sorry to hear this but since he’d been told to hand Source Armand over to Herr Barbie he had, naturally, ceased all contact with him. He had no idea where he could possibly be.
‘As you know, we are also investigating the disappearance of Fraulein Luise Brunner. Did you know her, Dupont?’
‘By name and by sight only, sir: she was in the same office.’
‘So, you never spoke with her?’
‘Possibly good morning or goodbye, but nothing more than that. I can—’
‘Don’t treat me as a fool, Dupont – and stand still while you’re at it. We have two witnesses – both Gestapo officers – who say that on the evening of Thursday 2 March you were seen deep in conversation with Fraulein Brunner in the Section 4A office. Do you recall that?’
‘Not as such, I may have been wishing her a good evening, but nothing of any consequence I can assure you, I—’
‘You appear to have taken a long time to say good evening, eh?’
‘I was merely being civil, sir.’
‘Fraulein Brunner is an enemy agent and an associate of Erhard Schröder, who was involved in helping the prisoner escape from Fort Montluc. We are also investigating possible links between Fraulein Brunner and Agnes Kléber, whose body was found on Sunday. In her handbag we discovered a British-issue revolver, of the same type they’ve been supplying to the Resistance. It has emerged that Brunner and Kléber spent a good deal more time in each other’s company than one would have expected.’
He paused and glared at Dupont who had no idea what to say: he was concentrating as hard as he could manage on remaining standing still.
‘It would appear that there was an enemy cell operating in this building and now with Source Armand disappearing – the same day as the killing of Kléber – we suspect there may be a link.’
‘Herr Winter, sir, I hope you don’t think I—’
‘Don’t think you what, Dupont? That you’re connected with all this? Well, unless you can give us a very satisfactory explanation, we most certainly do!’
* * *
On the same day that René Dupont discovered he was suspected of being an enemy agent, Anna Rousseau turned up at the apartment on Boulevard du Nord.
They’d not seen her for a while and in fact Sophia and Siegfried hadn’t seen anyone from the Mars Network since Madame Madelaine’s visit on the Sunday evening when she’d told them about Agnes Kléber.
She had a bag of food with her and once that had been sorted, they all sat in the lounge, including Jack who was now able to sit in the armchair.
‘I have bad news, I’m afraid.’
She seemed paler and thinner than when they’d last seen her. ‘The information you gave Madame Madelaine – about Dupont telling you that he was in the same class as Dupont and shared a desk with him? You passed this on to Agnes Kléber, I understand: our contacts in the Hôtel de Ville searched for the records. However…’
She sighed and raised her eyebrows.
‘In the file for that school a number of items had been removed – the four class lists for 1918, the year that Dupont left and also the directory of the pupil’s home addresses. We have no way of finding out who Source Armand could be. Either it was removed by the Gestapo or more possibly by—’
‘Agnes Kléber?’
‘Exactly: Madame Madelaine is convinced she was no traitor but believes she wanted to make the discovery of his identity herself.’
‘It would make sense,’ said Sophia. ‘If she discovered his identity, she may then have confronted Source Armand and he killed her.’
‘That is the most likely explanation,’ said Anna.
‘But we shall never know,’ said Siegfried.
* * *
René Dupont regarded his discovery of an apparent link between the shop on Rue Ravat and the Resistance as his insurance policy.
He’d obtained this policy just over six months before, on a Monday afternoon when he was a passenger in a German Gestapo staff car and they’d driven down Rue Ravat where he spotted his brother-in-law Marcel pausing outside a ladies’ boutique selling scarves and gloves and then entering it.
It was most unusual: Marcel’s garage business was in Brotteaux, on the other side of the Rhône. It made no sense for him to be visiting such a shop on the Presqu’île, let alone anywhere else in the city. He’d decided this was something he must look into, but it was another month before he was able to do so.
He visited the shop at the end of October but left it none the wiser. The proprietor was a taciturn woman who eyed him suspiciously and when she asked him what he wanted he realised he’d not really thought of a reason why he was there so muttered something about his wife’s birthday and before he knew it, he’d bought her a ridiculously expensive pair of deerskin gloves.
Although there was nothing to make him suspicious about the shop, he remained unsure as to why his brother-in-law had visited it. He toyed with the idea of asking him, but Marcel was too smart to be caught out like that. The following week he returned to Rue Ravat: this time he had his story ready – his wife was delighted with the gloves, he’d say, and he was so pleased his brother-in-law had recommended the shop to him. And then he’d mention his brother-in-law and show the two of them together in a family photograph.
But the boutique was closed. He decided to visit the café next door, which on a wet Wednesday afternoon was deserted. The proprietor – a Madame Faure – was pleased to see him, so much so that she brought him an extra cake and ended up sitting down near to him, only too pleased to talk.
Her husband had died a few years ago, she told him. Running this business on her own was so unpredictable: sometimes it was too busy and she’d be exhausted, other times too quiet and she’d worry about money.
‘Do you have any help?’
‘My oldest son has been sent to Germany to work; you understand? My youngest, Jacques – he’s not in Lyon.’
‘Does he ever visit?’
At that point he noticed Madame Faure clam up, as if she’d said too much and he thought that was odd because all she’d said was that Jacques wasn’t in Lyon.
He did ask her about the shop next door, the boutique – who is it owned by – and she was similarly reticent. Her behaviour was odd: she gave the appearance of being a woman who thrived on gossip and loved to talk and was now having to make an effort to say as little as possible.
But René Dupont’s time with the Gestapo had not been wasted. He’d learnt how they operated. He understood the need to be unscrupulous and intuitive and to recognise that if you suspect something then there’s probably a very good reason for it and therefore to follow your instincts.
When he returned to Avenue Berthelot, he checked the files. There was nothing on Madame Faure or her eldest son Gilbert. But there was a file on Jacques Faure: a suspected resistant, with links to the Combat Resistance group, last heard of in Lyon February 1942: an unconfirmed report from November 1943 he may be involved with the maquis in Limousin.
He returned to the café on Rue Ravat in the first week of November, waiting until the boutique was closed and the café was quiet. Madame Faure clearly remembered him, and he asked if there was somewhere they could talk in private?
‘Maybe when I close, in a couple of hours?’
‘It’s about Jacques.’
She reacted more calmly than he’d expected and said very well, wait until those customers leave and I’ll close up.
Half an hour later they were in a small room at the back of the café, sitting amongst the boxes and supplies. Dupont had just showed Madame Faure his Gestapo badge but told her not to worry, she wasn’t in any kind of trouble.
She looked terrified. ‘I can promise you Jacques is a good boy who is easily led. I beg of you to—’
He raised a hand for her to stop. ‘I told you, Madame Faure, there is nothing for you to worry about. Everything I am going to say is between you and me. Jacques is not in trouble – yet. I can tell you he is in Limousin and is involved in the Maquis. You maybe suspected that, eh? Don’t worry, we know he is no more than a messenger and if you do me a small favour, I promise to ensure he remains safe.’
He wanted her to become one of his informants, he told her. If she were to overhear anything in the café or in the neighbourhood or see anything that may be of interest to him then she was to tell him and he’d ensure no one suspected her. And in return, Jacques would remain safe.
She nodded slowly, realising she had no alternative and then he asked her about the shop next door, the boutique.
‘Madame Madelaine’s?’
‘I’ve wondered if perhaps anything goes on there? I’ve noticed people going in…’
‘She has meetings, in the basement,’ Madame Faure said. ‘I know nothing about them, I’m not involved. She just asks me if I’d ring the bell behind the counter if I ever see anything when they’re meeting. I don’t know who it is who meets there, but it is very… I’m not sure of the right word, clandestine? But you must understand: it is nothing to do with me!’
Dupont said of course, he understood, and could he show Madame Faure this photograph: do you recognise this man?
It was a family photograph, taken that summer. He’d covered over all the faces apart from Marcel’s. Madame Faure held it close to her face and angled it against the light. Yes, she said, she did recognise him: she didn’t know his name but he was always at these meetings.
‘How often do they meet there?’
‘Hard to say: it used to be more often. Now maybe every fortnight, perhaps three weeks? She tells me an hour or so beforehand so I can be on the lookout.’
And they then came to an agreement.
René Dupont gave Madame Faure his telephone number at Avenue Berthelot. When she heard a meeting was imminent, she was to telephone this number and say it was his optician and his new spectacles were ready.
And in return, Jacques would be protected.
Between the middle of November and the end of February he picked up three calls from her in time for him to go to Rue Ravat, there were another two which he missed as he got the message too late. He was careful though, still observing the boutique from a distance, spotting where the lookouts were, seeing how many people entered, making sure his hated brother-in-law was there too.
But he did nothing about it.
Not yet. The time would come.
This was his insurance policy, after all.
* * *
They were concerned about the three of them remaining in the apartment on Boulevard du Nord.
The idea had been to move all three of them, but Dr Hubert made it clear that Jack was too ill to be moved. But Siegfried did leave the apartment, taken east by Emile towards the Swiss border, which they hoped to smuggle him across.
This meant that for days at a time Sophia and Jack were on their own in the apartment and for much of that time, Jack was asleep. Sophia filled these empty hours pacing up and down and thinking and one day found her mind wandering, thinking about Agnes Kléber and why she’d not told Mars about what Dupont had told her about Source Armand and why had she been killed, was it linked to Source Armand: had she discovered him and had he killed her? It was hard to think there was no connection.
And that was when she remembered.
It was the same Thursday evening that she’d told Agnes what Dupont had told her. She’d been preoccupied with the plans for Jack’s rescue from Fort Montluc, but she’d also told Agnes about a Verified Source Report she’d read that afternoon, one that struck her as urgent, the dirty work of an informer.
