The Collaborators. Reginald Hill

The Collaborators - Reginald  Hill


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Abwehr’s understandable demand for an example to be set?’

      ‘Yes. Enough,’ said the captain unsteadily.

      ‘Good. Rest assured, if our friend here troubles us again, we will not be so merciful.’

      To Melchior remembering the moment later, the most horrifying thing was to recognize that Fiebelkorn had been utterly sincere. In his eyes this beating had been an act of mercy. But just now he had no thought for anything but pain. He lay very still, heard footsteps leaving the room, heard them more distantly mounting the marble stairway. Then silence. Then a hand on his shoulder. He screamed in terror.

      ‘Come on, my little hero,’ said Michel Boucher’s voice. ‘You’ve got a lot to learn about thieving, my friend. Here, let’s clean you up a bit.’

      A large red kerchief was applied with surprising gentleness to his cheek.

      ‘Now, can you stand? We’ll get you out of here before Attila returns.’

      Unsteadily he rose. Something crunched beneath his feet. He looked down and saw the little Spring had strewn her flowers at last.

      He liked to think some of the tears in his eyes were for that.

      ‘Aren’t you the chap who lives upstairs from old Sophie?’ asked Boucher as he helped him out. ‘My cousin’s married to her son who’s missing.’

      ‘Melchior’s my name, sage that I. . .’ His words drowned in blood.

      ‘Christ Almighty, Miche,’ said Pajou as he saw the big red-head half-carrying the groaning figure towards their truck. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing with that dirty little fairy?’

      ‘Well, I’ll tell you what, Paj,’ said Boucher laying Melchior gently in the back of the truck. ‘It’s nearly midsummer day and I just fancied a little fairy of my own, OK? So now drive carefully, or me and my friend here might just take it into our minds to make an example out of you.’

      ‘Today,’ said Günter Mai, ‘is the twenty-first of June, the longest day. Hereafter begins the darkness.’

      ‘I hope I don’t detect a metaphor,’ said Bruno Zeller sardonically.

      ‘Why? Can they arrest you for metaphors now?’ He was rather drunk, but it had seemed ungracious not to take full advantage of the major’s unexpected hospitality, particularly when it involved the Tour d’Argent’s superb duck, with wine to match. He looked out of the window. Below he could see the Seine darkly gleaming, with willow reflections reaching up to form an osier cage with their own realities. In such a cage his ex-gamekeeper grandfather had kept a blackbird. It never sang till one day by accident Mai had set it free. Such a torrent of bubbling music poured from its golden beak as it sped away that he forgot to be afraid of the consequences till the old man’s angry blows reminded him.

      ‘You’re strangely rapt, my friend,’ said Zeller. ‘Not more metaphors?’

      ‘Perhaps. Tell me, Bruno, sir, what precisely am I doing here?’

      ‘In Paris, you mean?’ said Zeller, deliberately misunderstanding.

      ‘No. I know what I’m doing in Paris. There’s a war on, remember?’

      ‘Really?’ Zeller looked round the crowded room. ‘Hard to believe, isn’t it?’

      ‘Not if you look out of the window. Out there, under every roof, there’s at least one person who knows he or she is fighting a war.’

      ‘So you do have X-ray vision! It explains such a lot.’

      ‘The major is pleasant. But in a way he’s right. Even here I can look towards the kitchen and see them spitting in the soup.’

      ‘How fortunate we avoided the soup then,’ said Zeller, suddenly impatient. ‘But you’re right. There is of course a reason for our little tête-à-tête. Günter, you’re one of the best men we’ve got. Well, I know you know it. I just wanted you to be sure that your superiors know it too.’

      ‘Good Lord,’ said Mai. ‘This isn’t a party to celebrate my promotion, is it?’

      ‘The lieutenant is facetious,’ said Zeller. ‘Now, a serious question. What do you think the greatest danger is to the Abwehr’s work?’

      ‘Easy,’ said Mai without hesitation. ‘The SD.’

      ‘Explain.’

      ‘A military occupation with a Wehrmacht chain of command is not to their taste. To them security is not just a means of keeping the peace but putting their ideology into action. Where our areas of work overlap, their best way to complete control is to discredit us and through us the military administration. Also men like your friend Fiebelkorn honestly believe that the only safe condition for an occupied country is one of constant terror.’

      ‘Don’t mention that bastard to me,’ said Zeller. ‘That trick of his with that runt Melchior last November was just a beginning. Listen, Günter. I’ve been unofficially authorized to organize a small section to keep an eye on whatever the SD are getting up to. Forewarned is forearmed. I’d value your assistance.’

      Mai sipped his wine and said, ‘You realize the best you can hope for is a delaying action? Behind us we’ve got generals, and of course an admiral. They’ve got politicians. It’s no contest.’

      ‘So you won’t help?’

      ‘Of course I will. You knew that before you ordered this excellent dinner. In fact I’ve taken a step or two in that direction already. Though, as doubtless you know, I should imagine our work load’s going to be increased quite a bit after tomorrow.’

      The remark was made so casually that Zeller found himself nodding in melancholy agreement till its implications struck home.

      ‘What the hell do you mean?’ he demanded.

      Mai laughed aloud at Zeller’s evident discomfiture.

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