“Sir?”
Petain’s impatience magnified. “Where is Locard?”
“I don’t believe he has returned,” Thibult said.
“Well get out there and find him!”
Thibult said, “Sir, he borrowed the squad car.”
Petain took a deep breath, fearing he’d shoot the man standing in front of him if he did not take a moment. “If anything has happened to the criminalist, the payment will be cut from your hide. Are you off in the head, Thibult?”
“Sir?”
Petain addressed the two officers sipping espresso and seeming to enjoy the show. “Go find Locard!” He looked back at Thibult. “Give them the damned address.”
Thibult headed towards the two officers who had set down their drinks.
Then, as if on cue, the door opened and Emile Locard stepped in with his suit coat draped over his shoulder.
“Perhaps Monsieur Locard is more competent than Officer Thibult after all. Locard, will you join me in my office?”
Petain entered his office and Locard followed. “The door, if you don’t mind, and have a seat.”
The Police Captain sat down in his chair, a comforting experience that eased a small portion of his irritation. He found that Locard’s safety added to this light improvement of his mood.
“Officer Thibult should have accompanied you to the scene this morning,” Petain said.
“The original report stated that the woman breaking into the home was believed to be Rosette Bertrand.”
“Bertrand?”
“One of the thirty missing maids.”
“I see. And have you secured this woman for questioning?”
“No sir. Turns out the report was from a neighbor. Rosette’s husband Garon Bertrand had invited over his mistress with instructions to come to the back door.”
“The day appears to be littered with the actions of the feeble-minded,” Petain said. Any man considering involvement with a mistress should know better. They are things to be played with away from the family home. His own experience taught him the neighbors were the most likely to question one’s actions. Though he supposed a man who married a Jew could not be considered an adulterer. “Any other news to report on our missing maids?”
“No sir. The incident provided me access to this woman’s family home. No indications of Madame Bertrand’s presence or any of the others.”
“Do you think Monsieur Bertrand is hiding anything?”
“No sir. The man even turned over his children to the police. Said he thought they had been corrupted by their mother’s blood.”
“Mongrels. It’s probably best.”
Rubi brought in his espresso and a cup of tea for the criminalist. “Anything else I can do for you sir?”
“The train?” Petain sipped his espresso.
“Yes sir. Telegraph arrived a few minutes ago. The train is scheduled to depart Drancy tomorrow morning.”
“That should put them out of France by tomorrow night. Thank you.”
Rubi left, closing the door behind her.
“And the thirty missing prisoners?” Locard asked.
“They are a threat to our people Locard. The sooner we find them the better.” The sooner I get my hands around their little necks, the sooner I can end the headache they’ve caused me.
23
0530 hours, Wednesday, August 5, 1942, Gibraltar, United Kingdom
Soon after disembarking from the HMS Talisman, Sarah was escorted into the spartan office of Royal Air Force Wing Commander Michael Brigadoon.
“Good morning, Miss Mendelson.” Brigadoon rose from his chair and came around the desk to take her hand.
“Good morning, sir,” she said. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“I should thank you for saving Flight Lieutenant Farley’s life. He tells me you are very handy with a pistol. And the medics tell me you worked a miracle keeping him from bleeding out until you got him to a doctor.”
“Well, I had a lot of help from our Spanish friends in that regard. And I lost a good friend during the fight.”
He held her hand in both of his for a moment. “I’m sorry to hear about your loss. A lot of good friends have been lost in this war.” Brigadoon released her hand and returned to the seat behind his desk. “Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you, sir.” Sarah seated herself in the straight-backed chair facing him.
“Now, how may I be of service?”
“I’d like you to get a message to American General Dwight Eisenhower in England, please.”
“I see. Can I assume this message has something to do with the impending attack on Saarbrücken?” He paused a moment. “Lieutenant Farley informed me of what you told him.”
“Yes, sir. And I assume he also told you that the message was for American ears only?”
“He did. You know we are allies with the Americans? There are no secrets between us.”
Sarah only smiled at him.
After a moment, he sighed. “As it happens, there are several senior members of Ike’s staff here on the Rock today. Let’s see if we can’t get a few moments with one of them.”
Directing his voice at the closed door, Brigadoon called to his aide, who soon stuck his head into the room through a half-open door. “Yes sir?”
“Captain Weathersby, please find out who is managing Major General Smith’s schedule and find us a few minutes to meet with him today. It’s an urgent matter. And send in some tea.”
“Very good, sir.” The aide disappeared, quietly closing the door. Moments later a corporal knocked before entering the room with a tea service for two.
“Who is General Smith?” Sarah said when the orderly had left.
“Major General Bedell Smith has recently been appointed as Ike’s chief of staff. He stopped here on his way to England to take a tour of the Rock.”
“To set up the headquarters for Operation Torch?” she asked.
Brigadoon grinned. “You are well informed. How did you come by that information?”
“Doesn’t matter. Once I’ve spoken to General Eisenhower, Operation Torch will be cancelled,” she said with assurance. “And I’m afraid I can’t say more than that.”
Brigadoon gaped at her.
Sarah and the Wing Commander passed the next few minutes chatting about conditions in Southern France, particularly with regard to the roundup of Jews.
“Excuse me, sir.” The aide’s head had reappeared at the door. “General Smith’s assistant says he is touring the central tunnels. You can join him now or schedule an appointment for Friday.”
“I think it’s best we join him underground. Thanks Weathersby.” Brigadoon stood. “Miss Mendelson, please follow me.”
They walked for what seemed like miles through the dimly-lit limestone caves of Gibraltar, Brigadoon stopping to show his credentials and sign Sarah into visitor’s logs at three different checkpoints. Finally, they caught up to General Smith’s tour group.
“Good morning, Wing Commander. I’m told you wished a word,” Smith said before Brigadoon snapped off a salute.
“Sir, it’s this young lady that would like a word.” Brigadoon turned to Sarah. “May I introduce Miss Sarah Mendelson? She has a message for General Eisenhower. I believe you should give her a moment. She seems to know a lot of things she shouldn’t.”
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Mendelson.” Smith extended his hand and Sarah shook it.
“Likewise, sir,” Sarah replied. “May we talk in private? It won’t take long.”
“Very well.” Smith turned to an aide, who indicated the way to a nearby empty office. An armed man stood guard outside the office, falling in to position as if he’d been handed this assignment many times. Once alone inside the room, Smith smiled and pulled a small notebook from his pocket. “Okay, miss. What’s the message?”