Pursuit of Passy Read online

CHAPTER IV

  INTO THE DARKNESS

  I STOOD very still. The implications of this remark were so staggering that it took a little time for my mind to adjust itself to the shock. The room was very quiet and in the silence I was conscious both of the clock ticking gently on the mantelpiece and also the urgent throbbing of a pulse in my head.

  The man at the table smiled slightly and went on: “It is rather unusual for an R.A.F. officer to be sent out to murder a man, but then we live in unusual times. After all, you take off in your aircraft to destroy the King's enemies whether they're German or anything else and generally they get killed in the process though I don't suppose that worries you very much.

  “Yet this man Passy is far more dangerous to this country than any German pilot you will ever meet, and as we can't shoot him down from the air we've got to hunt him on the ground. I used the word murder just now but that's the wrong word. Remember this man is both a spy and a traitor and his life is forfeit. If he were to fall into the hands of the French—the true French that is—he'd be court-martialled and shot in no time. He's also a very callous murderer as you saw at Abbeville.

  “In the position we're in today we've got to forget all our pleasant English ideas of fair play and not hitting below the belt. We've played the game too long when everybody else has been getting away with their dirty tricks and you see the result. Now we're going to be tough too, and we're going to beat them at their own game. D'you understand?”

  “I do, sir,” I said slowly, “but I can't see why you should select me for the job. I've no experience of this sort of thing and no qualifications. I'm sure you could find somebody more suitable.”

  “No,” he replied emphatically. “As soon as your report about the photograph came in this afternoon we saw immediately that this was our opportunity to strike because we know for the first time where Passy is. I discussed the matter with Group Captain Leighton and one or two other persons well-qualified to judge and we decided that you were the most suitable person for the task. I also obtained permission from Air Ministry for you to be attached temporarily for special duties. You can speak French after a fashion, can't you? I believe you worked there for a time before the war.”

  “Yes I did, sir.” I wondered how the devil he knew so much about me. I was beginning to have a very considerable respect for this man and the resources and information at his disposal.

  I went on: “But my French is nowhere near good enough to pass as a Frenchman.”

  “No,” he said, “but I think we can overcome that as you'll see in a minute.” Evidently he realised my reluctance for he paused and reflected for a moment and then went on in quiet persuasive tones.

  “Believe me, Claydon, if we had anybody else we should send him, but the matter is so urgent and our position is so desperate that we cannot risk delay while we hunt round for somebody else.

  “You see, we have no intelligence organisation in France. It was the country of an ally whom we never expected to lose and this situation had never been foreseen. All security and intelligence matters were dealt with by the French Intelligence people—the Deuxième Bureau that you've probably heard of—and now all that has been swept away by the tide and we have to start building an efficient organisation of our own which will take a long time.

  “Remember, you have one great advantage over anybody else—you know Passy and would recognise him. That is your main qualification.

  “To give you an idea of the importance we attach to this—do you think that with the present acute shortage of fighter pilots we could pinch you from Fighter Command unless the matter were vital? There's so much at stake that you are going to be more useful in this job than you are in your Spitfire. It's risky, of course, and if the Germans catch you they'll certainly shoot you at the very least, but it's got to be done by somebody and we consider that you have as good a chance as anybody we can find at such short notice. Are you game?”

  I stared out of the window thinking furiously. I was cornered and I knew it. There was no decent way out except to go forward. I hated the idea of saying yes; I hated the idea of being hunted down in a foreign country, and then perhaps tortured and shot in cold blood, far from England and home and one's friends. To be killed in action—well, I didn't mind that much; it was clean and quick and exciting and hot-blooded, and I had often faced the possibility in my mind, but to be led out one morning in front of a firing squad—ugh!

  And yet I could not turn down this request, and I knew I should never be happy with myself again if I refused. Also I didn't see how I could continue to face the man in front of me; such cowardice and selfishness would be quite outside his comprehension, I was sure of that.

  Suddenly, and without even realising that I was going to speak, I said, “Yes.”

  The man at the table smiled. “Good,” he said simply and then added, “I thought I wasn't mistaken in you.” In other circumstances such a compliment would have gratified me considerably but just now it left me quite cold.

  “Now for details,” he went on. “We realise that your French may be rather a handicap and also your lack of knowledge of French ways generally so we have found a companion for you.”

  He pressed a bell on his desk and the girl came in silently.

  “Ask Captain Carnac to step in, will you.” She went out again.

  He turned to me. “You’ll like Carnac,” he said. “He’s the very best type of Frenchman, brave, intelligent, resourceful. You should make an excellent team.”

  Footsteps sounded in the passage followed by a knock on the door and I turned round with the keenest interest to see the newcomer as he entered.

  I beheld a very striking looking soldier. He wore the peaked cap and khaki tunic of a French officer and his breeches were of the usual French cut, so perfect that you felt they must be on a dummy in a tailor's window. His riding boots gleamed a rich brown against the carpet; his linen was impeccable. Evidently he thought a great deal about his personal appearance.

  He was small and slim yet very well proportioned and a certain breadth about his shoulders told of considerable strength in a lithe and supple way. His hands were small and beautifully kept.

  His face impressed me from the outset. The skin was burnt by the sun and was a smooth brown under his dark hair. His eyes were quick and full of intelligence, he had a small moustache turned up at the ends and when he smiled he showed a row of pearly teeth. He possessed an extraordinary degree and air of good breeding, dignity, intelligence and a touch of fiery yet controlled recklessness that reminded me irresistibly of D'Artagnan in “The Three Musketeers.” It struck me that here was a companion well suited to the enterprise ahead of us.

  The man at the table rose to his feet. “Come in, Carnac,” he said. “This is Flying Officer Claydon of the Royal Air Force who is going with you to France. Claydon, meet Captain Charles Carnac.”

  We shook hands. “I am very happy to meet you,” said Carnac. He spoke English quite easily though with a pronounced accent.

  The Unknown went on, “I’ve already told you, Carnac, about this business of Passy and I think now you both know as much about it as we do.

  “Now for your actual instructions. All we can do is to give you ample money and the name of a man in Laon who will help as much as possible. He's a doctor, a Frenchman and a Jew. His name is Paul Mendel and his address 23 Avenue Neuilly, Laon. Remember that because you mustn't write it down: I think you'll find him a very good friend and he certainly has no love for the Boche, but you must be exceedingly careful in your approach to him as the enemy may already have him under supervision as a Jew, if nothing worse.

  “One of our officers was in Laon just before the Germans arrived and he realised what a valuable agent Mendel would be, so they arranged a recognition signal in case anybody went to see the doctor on our behalf. You will go to him and complain of a pain in your back. Mendel will then ask how long this has been troubling you and you will reply, 'Since May 6th,' which was the day this signal was ag
reed on. It may sound a bit elementary, but it was all arranged very hurriedly.

  “Once you have seen Mendel and fixed your hiding place, start your search for Passy immediately. I can't give you any advice about this at all, or how you will deal with him later when you've found him. It may be easy; more likely it will be very difficult. You'll just have to use your own brains and your own initiative but remember always that your sole object is to kill Passy and return safely to this country.

  “There’s a great deal of confusion in France at the moment, with thousands and thousands of refugees wandering all over the countryside. This should make it much easier for you to conceal yourselves and I think you'll be fairly safe so long as you can stay in cover, but of course the danger starts for a spy when he has to stick his head out to get information.

  “Be very careful about the Germans. Their security and secret police are very vigilant, very clever and absolutely ruthless. If they catch you they'll stop at nothing—literally nothing—to get information from you about your mission, your means of entry into France and the identity of your companions. You've probably heard of their methods of interrogation and most men will break down under it sooner or later. If by any chance the worst should happen—” he looked at us very intently, “you'll just have to stick it as long as you can but in case it gets too bad we're giving you some little phials which you might get the opportunity to take. That will give you an easy way out, but you mustn't give anything away whatever they do to you.”

  He paused a moment and then picked up a folder on the table.

  “Lastly, here are all the details of Passy that we have been able to discover. He's about thirty-five, an electrical engineer by trade and evidently a clever one.

  “Before the war he was employed for a time on research by the French branch of Siemens and he was mobilised for the Army in September 1939, but he was soon released again and shortly after he got this liaison job at Abbeville. He's inclined to be a heavy drinker and is very partial to women —in fact his morals would shame an alley cat. We can't trace that he's ever been in trouble with the police and there's no indication as to when the Germans may have got hold of him, but his political views are certainly Fascist for he was an active member of the Croix du Feu about the time of the Stavisky riots. Since then, however, he seems to have quietened down somewhat, though of course this may have been a blind. We have heard a story that at one time he had some connection with the Deuxième Bureau but we can't confirm this and personally I think it's most unlikely. And that's all I can tell you.”

  He stopped and regarded us both. “Is there anything more you wish to know?” I shook my head. Carnac said, “No, nothing.”

  “Good,” said the man at the table. “Well, I wish you the very best of luck and remember you have our authority for anything that you consider is necessary for your success, and we shall back you up whatever you do and whatever the result.”

  We shook hands and the Unknown, turned to Leighton. “Group Captain Leighton will see that you're fixed up with everything that's necessary and settle all the other details.”

  “When are we going, sir?” I asked.

  “Tonight”, said Leighton. “We have a Whitley laid on to drop you near Laon.”

  I grinned. “It all seems to have been arranged very quickly, sir.”

  “It was,” said Leighton. He also seemed slightly amused. “We fixed it as soon as we got your report this afternoon. Come along.”

  You are a B.F. I said to myself. You really thought you were being very noble in volunteering for this job, didn't you? And actually it was all arranged for you from the very beginning. You never had a hope of getting out of it.