A single wooden bench sat against the building beneath a weathered awning. Hiram and Petain were the only visitors to the station this early on a Sunday morning. Garon Bertrand waited, gagged and shackled, in the trunk of Lebeau’s Citroën. Hiram’s right hand remained in his pocket holding a nine-millimeter pistol aimed at Petain’s back.
“I need to use your phone.” Petain flashed his badge at the station agent. The agent picked up the ancient device. He guided the cord and placed the contraption on the counter. He stood, watching Petain, waiting for him to make his call.
“Police business. Go have a smoke,” Petain said. The agent hesitated, looked at Hiram, then stepped out the back door of the station. Hiram listened as Petain made contact with the first two operators before connecting with his office in Perpignan. Hiram held the Babel Fish receiver near Petain’s right ear and set it to text mode. The C2ID2 translated the conversation, providing an onscreen view in Hebrew text. Hiram pressed the pistol into Petain’s ribs, a not-too-subtle reminder of his promise to end Petain’s life if he drifted from the script they had rehearsed in the car on the way to Corgoloin.
“Perpignan Station, Miss Brodeur speaking.”
“Rubi, you’re in early,” Petain said.
“Yes, sir. I thought with everything going on, it was best to get an early start.”
“Listen Rubi. The railway system is all messed up. I want you to issue orders to the Commandant at Camp Joffre in my name. He is to send thirty trucks to the railyard at Pont-Saint-Vincent to pick up the prisoners on the train. I’ll meet the convoy with my men. I’ve got plenty of men to provide sufficient coverage. We just need the trucks. Got that?”
“Yes, sir. Should I contact Sergeant DuBois and let him know what’s happening?”
Petain looked at Hiram.
Hiram shook his head. Sweat slipped into his eyes.
“No. I’ll take care of that myself. And Rubi, let’s try to keep this as quiet as possible, understand?”
“Yes, sir. Anything else?”
“No, that’s all. I’ll call you back later this afternoon. I’ll need an estimated time of arrival for the trucks.” Petain hung up without saying goodbye, then looked at Hiram.
“Let’s go.” Hiram followed Petain out the door. The station agent rushed back to his post as Hiram and Petain passed on the way back to the parking lot. A few minutes later, the Citroën pulled out of the lot, Petain behind the wheel. He’d find a secluded spot to shackle him up later. First, they needed to stop for petrol.
1100 hours, Sunday, August 16, Mamirolle, Doubs Department, Vichy France
The grey Citroën turned right off the main road south of Mamirolle and onto a dirt road headed into the hills, Hiram at the wheel. Bertrand had been allowed out of the trunk as the temperature climbed to 30℃ and now sat beside Petain in the back seat, both hooded. The road sloped upward through a pine forest and ended at the front door of an abandoned farmhouse. Fields overgrown with weeds surrounded the house. The French civilians that once lived here had fled during the initial German invasion. Many homes in the so-called Zone of German Settlement had been left behind. The Nazis prevented their return, intending to open the area up to settlement by ethnic Germans, but few Aryans opted to move west.
The C2ID2 message he sent to the women waiting in the abandoned farmhouse had been short with no more than a description of the car and his approximate arrival time. As he turned off the engine, Rosette stepped out of the farmhouse door with Leverette at her side.
Barbara and Charlotte emerged from the shadows at opposite corners of the barn, M22’s in hand. Maxime was nowhere in sight, and Teams Charlie and Delta had not yet arrived. Hiram opened the door of the car and began to climb out. As he stood, Deborah threw her arms around him and almost pushed him back into the driver’s seat. He clenched his teeth as he tried to steady himself on his good leg. She pulled away for a moment, but Hiram drew her back to him. He kissed her and pulled her in tight against him once more. Relief filled the gaping void that had been left in his chest since the mess in Saarbrücken.
When Hiram opened his eyes again, Danette had joined them, standing behind Deborah. Her smile◦– Rachel’s smile◦– was almost too much to bear. Deborah released him and he turned to hug his great-great-grandmother.
“I never thought I’d see you two again,” he said.
“After the bomb went off, we thought we’d lost you,” Deborah said.
“Until we saw the drone in the mountains,” Danette added, Deborah translating.
Hiram held his right index finger up to his lips, pointed to the two men inside the car. Both Bertrand and Petain now sat in the back seat, each sporting a black hood he had pulled from Jacob’s Mossad-equipped pod. Barbara, Danette, and Deborah moved to surround the car.
“Who’s this?” Barbara nodded toward the two prisoners. Deborah translated.
“I’ve got a plan,” Hiram said. “Where’s Maxime?”
“Asleep in an upstairs bedroom.” Charlotte used her M22 to point to the leftmost window on the second floor of the farmhouse. “I gave her a pretty heavy dose of the sedative in the medkit. Valium, I think.” Deborah repeated her words in Hebrew. “She’ll be out for a while.”
Hiram opened the right rear door of the sedan and dragged the thinner of his two captives out of the car. He forced Bertrand to his knees facing the house. He wanted to get Bertrand back to Rosette alive. He’d leave it up to her to address his punishment.
“Papa!” Leverette yelled when Hiram pulled the hood off. Too young to understand his father’s betrayal, he broke loose from his mother’s grip and ran toward his father. Rosette retreated into the house.
Garon lifted his cuffed hands above the boy to let him in closer. He looked down at the boy and then back at Hiram.
“Papa, papa.” The boy said a few more words and Garon responded before kissing him on the forehead. Garon acted happy to see his boy.
Rosette emerged from the house. She addressed Charlotte.
Charlotte said something to the little boy about a biscuit and he took her hand. They walked away from the house together, the boy jumping over sticks along the way.
Rosette held a knife. “Down to the root cellar, please.” As she moved closer to the man on the ground, Hiram recognized the military issued can of clotting foam in her other hand.
Garon caught sight of his wife, began to plead with her.
Rosette spoke to Garon in a calm, almost motherly tone. Hiram did not understand her words. She was not a murderer, but he supposed for Garon she might make an exception.
Garon’s pleading had no impact. He looked to the other women, eyes wide and begging for reprieve. When no one stepped up to assist, he tried to calm himself.
“Shhh,” Rosette put a finger to her lips. “No more worries, my husband. We’re just going to make sure you don’t ever have any more children you’re not prepared to give your life for.”
Barbara helped the man to his feet. She pointed her M22 toward him.
Garon’s eyes watered. His lips quivered. Rosette, on the other end of the spectrum, seemed serene.
Barbara and Rosette disappeared behind the house with Garon between them. A few seconds later Hiram heard the cellar door slam shut.
Hiram looked away. The man in the cellar screamed. He hoped his other prisoner listened.
After a few minutes, Danette walked up beside him, said something in French. “What about the other one?” Deborah translated