Blue Madonna (25 page)

A tear made a tiny drop on the blank paper. The fibers soaked it up and it vanished, like a false identity long forgotten.

I jogged across the back lawn, knowing that the staff had been sent home. It felt odd to be aboveground, exposed, however briefly, under the morning light. I stopped in to see Count Vasseur, tossing off a wave to the painting of the old count in the grand hall on my way. Vasseur was alone with Vincent.

“How did the call go?” I asked as Vincent stepped behind his employer, his hands folded respectfully.

“Very well, Sergeant. Major Zeller said he would investigate immediately. He was quite upset by the severing of the rail lines last night, and wondered if perhaps Rivet and his men were in league with the Resistance! Laughable, but it will keep him busy for some time and cause the
Milice
a good deal of trouble.”

“He won't reveal the information came from you, will he?”

“No, certainly not. He has been discreet in the past, and I expect he will continue. He is not unintelligent.”

“Is he a Nazi? A fanatic?” I asked, strolling over to the Madonna for a closer look.

“No,” the count said, walking from his desk to stand by me. “He has a degree in art history from the University of Heidelberg. Not that the Nazis don't fashion themselves as art lovers. But he says he joined the
Abwehr
because it is home to many who do not worship Herr Hitler.”

“That's what I've heard as well. I've also heard that the Germans are looting art from all over France. How have you managed to hold onto yours?”

“By having an unremarkable collection, except for this one,” Count Vasseur said. “
Blue Madonna
, by Carlo Dolci. Italian, seventeenth century. Beautiful, isn't she?”

“Yes. I don't know much about art, but I can tell this is something special.” Mary's face, serene and humble at the same time, was surrounded by a veil of lush royal blue, almost luminous against her pale skin and downcast eyes.

“Vincent was doing repairs to the frame when the Germans came calling. He had temporarily hung one of his own paintings in its place. A landscape he'd done recently, nothing the Germans would even bother with. They mainly appropriate property from Jewish homes, or from political opponents, but they also make offers to buy whatever they want. At ridiculously low prices, but which only a fool would refuse, with armed men at the ready.”

“They didn't take anything?”

“Other than an inventory of my paintings, no. Vincent hid the Madonna, and since they have not returned, I trust they found nothing of interest. The portraits of French noblemen apparently hold little interest for the master race.” The count smiled at his little joke and led me to the staircase. “Vincent will show you to where the baron is on watch. We are making arrangements for Madame Agard and Justine, so please excuse us.”

“Where?” I asked.

“It is better that you do not know in case of the worst,” he said with a shrug, as if to apologize for bringing up such an unpleasant topic.

He was right, of course. I might rat everyone out in minutes. I wasn't dumb enough to think it would be easy to play the hero, not all alone in a Gestapo “kitchen.” As I mounted the steps to Kaz's top-floor lookout post, I thought about what I might try. Profess ignorance of anything vital? No, they'd never believe it, and they'd be pulling fingernails in two shakes. Lie. I was a good liar. I could give them the location of a phony arms cache or parachute drop. A lie would buy time, but for what?

Nothing. Torture, betrayal, a bullet in the head. Those were the likely outcomes, and salvation would not be in the cards.

“Anything happening, Kaz?” He was seated by a tall open window, the warm spring breeze wafting in.

“No. I can hear trucks on the main road, but nothing out of the ordinary. Is Topper sending the news to London?”

“Yeah. Meyer volunteered to go with him. Tell me, did you learn anything about the history of the château?”

“Only that the first count, Frédérick-Charles Maronneau, was a Huguenot from Toulon. They were French Protestants, you know.”

“The Huguenots,” I said, trying to act as if I did know.

“Yes. There were religious wars and persecutions over the centuries. The Catholic majority persecuted them horribly. Frédérick-Charles converted to Catholicism and was given this land and his title by the king as recompense for his actions. He was a rich textile merchant, and the count alluded to a sizable bribe as well.”

“He built this place himself?”

“There was already a
petit château
, as the count called it. But Frédérick-Charles enlarged it and added the tunnels, discovering the Druid temple along the way. That's as much as he would say. I suspect the tunnels were used to hide Huguenots fleeing persecution.”

“So his conversion was a cover?”

“That would be my guess, but the count was not very forthcoming. Is the history of the family relevant to our situation?”

“It might be,” I said. “I'd like to know how many people know about it, for starters. But that can wait. First we have the Krauts to worry about, and whatever orders London sent us. Juliet is decoding last night's message now.”

“It must be hard on her,” Kaz said, pulling aside the curtain as it blew in. “First their wireless operator died, then Sonya is picked up.”

“Adrien, wasn't it? The wireless operator?” I stood back from the window, not wanting to be spotted. If the Germans were watching the château, they'd have no reason to think we'd heard about Sonya yet.

“Yes. He took his cyanide capsule, as Major Harding told us.”

“I wonder where he was,” I said. “He obviously had his wireless with him.”

“Perhaps putting some distance between the château and his signal. As Topper is doing.”

“Topper and Meyer are heading off into the woods. I wonder if Adrien was doing the same, and how the Germans caught him.”

“Perhaps he was taking the wireless to the Resistance,” Kaz said, tapping his chin. “But why would he do that? Far easier for the
Maquis
to bring a message to him and transmit from nearby. No, it must have been somewhere close.”

“I never thought to ask,” I said, running the possibilities through my mind. “Until now. I'll be right back.”

I darted downstairs into the kitchen. Glancing out the window, I spotted Vincent helping Madame Agard and Justine into a horse cart. He climbed in after them and snapped the reins. The ancient nag moved slowly, carrying the old woman and child to some safe place, if there was such a thing in occupied France. I went through the cupboard door, lighting one of the candles kept on the ledge.

The tunnels had become more familiar, but I still felt a sense of chaos and fear, deep underground with only a flickering candle for light. I felt my way, one hand on the cold limestone wall, stepping carefully to avoid a fall on the uneven floor. One wrong turn, one sudden gust, and I'd be a prisoner of the darkness, alone and disoriented. Two men had been murdered down here, the damp walls and clammy air making the narrow chambers a perfect crypt.

But now I was sensing a third murder, one committed in the open air.

I made my way through the Druid temple, wondering how many people in the area knew about it. Was it common knowledge, or simply a legend, like the White Giant?

I made it into the main tunnel connecting the salon and the living quarters. I left the candle and made my way through the dimly lit corridor, finding Juliet still at work decoding the sked. “Do you know where Topper was headed?”

“What? Into the forest, of course, Billy.”

“No, I mean exactly where?”

“Other than a mile or so out, I have no idea. Why?”

I wasn't sure I could put all my suspicions into words yet. “What about Adrien? Was he in the forest when they grabbed him?”

“No. We decided it was too dangerous to keep using the wireless here. If the Germans got close to tracking the signal, it would be instantly obvious that the château was involved.”

“Because there's no one else around.”

“Exactly. So Christine made arrangements for him to be housed in an apartment in the town center. The owners had fled south in 1940 and were never heard from again. We thought there would be safety in numbers.”

“But he never made it?”

“Right. He was taken outside the apartment building. How did you know?”

“Because things are finally starting to make sense. I think Adrien's death is related to the murders here.”

“What's going on, Billy? Why is all this happening?”

“I'm not entirely sure yet, but I'm beginning to see a pattern. I thought Topper might be in danger, but I guess I may be wrong about that. I'll still feel better if I look for him and Meyer.”

“All right, but be careful. I'll finish the decoding, and we can talk when you get back. Do you want anyone to go with you?”

“Right now, I don't know who else to trust. You be careful, too.” I leaned over and kissed her cheek. The salty tang of tears lingered on my lips as I went to search for Topper.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I had no
idea in what direction they'd gone, so I went straight up the nearest hill, figuring Topper would want some height for his aerial. Then the next hill, and the next, until I stood in a clearing, hands on my knees, gasping for breath. Thoughts kept zipping through my mind, daring me to make any sense out of them.

Switch saying he knew I was a cop before the war. The upstairs room that Count Vasseur didn't want to show Kaz. The spooky eyes in the painting of the first count. The ghost stories. Blue paint. Vincent and his art gallery. The survival of the Noble network while all others in contact with it were betrayed. With all the worry about what Sonya might be able to stand up to, I should have thought about the implications. Had no one talked? Maybe knowledge was so compartmentalized that only a few people would know who and where Noble was.

And finally, Adrien.

Adrien, the biggest mystery of all. He'd solved all the problems of betrayal and identity. One little pill, and no more falseness, no more fear, no gruesome tortures, no guilt. Simple. In an instant, he was out of the equation. Which was perhaps the plan. Or more precisely, his wireless was gone. Noble was isolated, cut off from all contact.

Until we showed up, and two men were murdered. I thought about what my dad always said about coincidence. It was the word people used when they couldn't see who was pulling the strings.

A branch snapped. Footsteps crackled on dried leaves. I drew my pistol and eased behind a tree, waiting as the sounds grew closer. I heard the exhale of breath, a groan of exhaustion. I stepped from behind the tree and leveled the pistol at the figure emerging from the brush.

“Bloody hell, Billy, put that down and help me,” Topper said, staggering forward. Blood matted his hair and streamed down his neck. His hands were empty. I grabbed his arm and draped it around my shoulder.

“What happened?” I said, knowing the answer.

“Meyer, that bastard. He bashed me good while I was setting up the wireless. What the hell was he up to? Why take the radio?”

“You hadn't sent the message yet, had you?”

“No. I suppose he couldn't wait. Do you think he's off to do a deal with Zeller and trade the wireless? But for what?”

“The radio may be smashed and tossed in a ravine by now,” I said. “He doesn't want the radio. That's the point.”

“Make sense, Billy. Or stop talking. My head hurts.”

I stopped talking and saved my breath for the hills. I wasn't entirely sure I could make proper sense of it anyway.

By the time we got into the tunnels, Topper was woozy. He slumped against me, and I held him up as we entered the salon. Everyone but Juliet was there. Kaz and Dogbite took Topper from me and sat him down as Babcock went off for a medical kit.

“What happened? Where's Meyer?” Switch asked. “Did you run into Krauts?”

“No. This is Meyer's work. He took the wireless, too. Lit off to parts unknown,” I said.

“Meyer? He can be a bum, but why'd he clobber Topper and take the radio?” Dogbite said.

“Beats me,” I said, keeping my theories to myself. “Does he know how to operate those things?”

“He could work the radio on the aircraft, but that's a different story from sending Morse code on one of those sets,” Switch said. “Besides, who the hell would he radio even if he could?”

“If any of you have any ideas, now would be the time,” Kaz said, using a damp towel to clean the blood from around Topper's wound. Silence and shrugs all around.

“Aren't you on watch?” I asked Kaz.

“There's been another development,” he said. “Sonya has returned.”

“Yeah, how d'ya like that?” Fawcett said. “Meyer takes off, and the Gestapo lets Sonya walk. I say we get the hell out of here. Either she sang to the Krauts, or Meyer will.”

“Pipe down, Fawcett,” Babcock said, returning with the kit and handing Kaz bandages. “It could have been a mistake. Even the Germans can mess up paperwork.”

“The count does have a friend on the police force,” Kaz said. “Perhaps he saw to her release.” He glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. I didn't believe it, either, but the last thing we needed right now was panic.

“I'm sure Meyer just lost his head after being cooped up in here for so long,” I said. “I need to tell Juliet. Where is she?”

“In the count's library, with Sonya,” Kaz said. “I'll join you as soon as I get Topper settled. She finished the decoding, but Sonya's arrival took us all by surprise.”

Funny, I wasn't all that shocked.

It was a classic cop move, releasing a suspect in the hopes that his pals would think he'd given them up. Usually used as a threat, but sometimes you had to follow through. Like when you wanted to flush out the bad guys from their hiding places. It worked, too, because the gang would make it their first order of business to come after the stool pigeon. Criminals expected their confederates to do their time and shut up if they were caught. Like SOE expected agents to take the pill or put up with torture for forty-eight hours.

No one was expected to walk out scot-free. But Sonya had.

I made for the kitchen, noting Sonya's bicycle leaning against the wall by the door. Had the yellow license plate given her away? Every bicycle was required to be registered and the owner's identity kept on file. But no—if they were looking for her, they wouldn't have let her go so quickly. It had to be a case of the wrong place at the wrong time. Her identity papers were good, even if they were
faux faux
documents created by the SOE. What had she felt as she pedaled home? Relief, or did the fear of being followed gnaw at her?

In the library, relief was not the dominant theme.

Count Vasseur sat at his desk, worry creasing his brow. Sonya sat opposite him, the contents of her purse emptied onto the floor. By the look of her clothes, she'd been searched. Juliet stood over her, a Walther in one hand and a slip of paper in the other.

“What's going on?” I said.

“They don't believe me,” Sonya said, tears streaking her face, her eyes searching for sympathy.

“It is difficult to comprehend how you could be picked up by the Germans at a letter drop site and then released only hours later,” Count Vasseur said.

“And with this in your possession,” Juliet said, waving a document in Sonya's face. “An
Ausweis
, good until curfew tonight. Signed by an
Abwehr
officer. Did you forget to destroy it?”

“No! They gave me that when I was released. They actually apologized and drove me out of town. I know it sounds strange, but it is what happened. Please believe me.”

“We can't risk believing you,” Juliet said, looking to the count, who raised his eyebrows in my direction, inviting my opinion.

“Were they waiting for you at the drop?” I said.

“Yes. Even though I watched from a distance, I didn't spot them until it was too late. There's a low brick wall in the park at Épernon. I sat on it and checked a loose brick for a message hidden beneath it. There was nothing, and they were on me in seconds. Frenchmen in plain clothes, and then the
Abwehr
.”

“Not the Gestapo,” I said. “You're sure?”

“Of course,” she said.

“You didn't take your suicide pill,” Juliet said, as if that was damning.

“It was in my jacket pocket, but they were on me too fast. I tried to get to it, but they wrenched my arms behind my back. It must have fallen out, since they searched me and found nothing.”

“You were extraordinarily lucky, my dear,” Count Vasseur said. “One might say unbelievably so.”

“I have no idea why they released me, none at all,” Sonya held out her hands, palms up. “They had me in a cell for a few hours, but no one even spoke to me.”

“If she talked, where are the Germans?” I asked, glancing out the window, half expecting to see Zeller and his men swarming the grounds. “Why would they wait?”

“A good question,” Juliet said. “What did they ask you to do, Sonya? Tell us now. I have no wish to make this unpleasant.” By the time she finished her sentence, the Walther was pointed at Sonya's head.

“I have another question,” I said. “How did you get your bicycle?”

“What? The officer who drove me out of town had it in the boot of his car. Why?”

“Never mind. I don't think we have to worry about Sonya. She didn't betray us,” I said.

“How can you be so sure?” Juliet said, the barrel of the pistol still pointed at Sonya's temple.

“Because right now, the château is the safest place in France. But not for long.”

“Explain yourself, Sergeant!” Count Vasseur said, as Juliet let the pistol drop a few inches, her stare wavering between me and Sonya.

“To begin with, I believe that Adrien's death was connected to our recent murders. He wasn't known as part of the staff here, right?”

“Right,” Juliet said, the pistol finally relaxed at her side. “He had multiple identities so no one could trace him back to us.”

“Which is why he had to die. He may have taken the suicide pill, or it was forced on him. The real target was the wireless. It was important to isolate the château. I think the person behind all this was also responsible for the betrayal of the other networks.”

“You're making no sense, Billy,” Juliet said. “Let's get back to Sonya. If she didn't betray us, why did the Germans let her go?”

“Because her arrest and absence would direct suspicion to the château and everyone in it. Adrien was different. He had no apparent ties to the place, but he might have revealed what he knew under interrogation. So he was silenced, along with his wireless.”

“And what of Sonya's bicycle?” Count Vasseur said. “Why do you consider it important?”

“How valuable are bicycles in occupied France?” I said. The count shrugged.

“They are the sole means of transport for many people,” Juliet said, her voice telling me she knew where I was going with this. “And none are being produced. The factories are all engaged in war work.”

“There's no more rubber for tires, either,” Sonya said, jumping in.

“And yet your bicycle is returned to you. None of the French collaborators or a German guard swiped it to make a bundle of francs. Or if they did, they returned it toots sweet. Who could make that happen?”

“Not I,” Sonya said, her hand to her breast. In the distance, the sound of automobile engines rolled closer.

Juliet darted to the window and pulled the curtain aside. “It's Zeller,” she said. “With a truckload of men.” She glared at Sonya, who looked at me with wide, terrified eyes. “If the Germans weren't about to swarm the château, I'd shoot you here.”

At that second, Kaz appeared from the tunnel entrance built into the bookcase, his mouth gaping in surprise at the scene.

“No time to explain,” I said, grabbing Sonya by the hand and leading her to Kaz. “Watch her. Zeller's back, probably to make another search. Make sure no one wanders off this time, okay?”

“Absolutely,” Kaz said, regaining his composure in an instant and taking Sonya by the arm. I grabbed the debris from her handbag, stuffed it all in, and handed it to her. She gave me a weak, confused smile, then disappeared into the secret passage.

“
Probably
another search?” Juliet said as tires crunched on gravel. “I hope you're right. The alternative is that Sonya betrayed us.”

“Or he's coming to thank the count for revealing the treachery of the
Milice
,” I said.

“With a full squad?” Count Vasseur said. “Well, we shall see. Perhaps you two should also take to the tunnels?”

“No, let's listen in,” I said, preferring to stay aboveground. Juliet and I entered the small listening chamber behind the count's desk and waited for the sound of boot heels. They weren't long in coming.

“Count Vasseur, my friend!” Major Zeller's voice boomed out as he flung open the door to the library, letting it slam against the wall.

“Major, you are in excellent spirits. I trust my information was helpful?” The count rose from his seat, gesturing to a chair. Zeller ignored him.

“Oh, most helpful, my dear count. I learned that Frenchmen are not to be relied upon, not at all. Certain Frenchmen, that is.” Zeller stopped to admire
Blue Madonna
, much as I'd done earlier.

Just as he'd done then, Count Vasseur guided his guest to a seat and joined him in the matching chair in front of his desk. “Will your men be searching the château? Again?”

“My apologies, but with the revelation of Rivet's betrayal, searches are being undertaken everywhere for other Allied airmen. Even here. No one must be above reproach, don't you agree?”

“It is understandable, Major.” The count's voice was wary, and I didn't blame him. Zeller was playing with him, like a cat with a still-breathing mouse.

“Good! My men are searching the grounds. Purely a formality, do not worry. I myself will search the interior of the château.”

“I am glad to accompany you, Major Zeller.”

“No, it is best you stay here. The staff?”

“Vincent took the cook shopping in the horse cart. The others have the day off.”

“Very well. I hope to be done soon,” Zeller said, rising from his seat and standing over Count Vasseur. “Do not leave the library. My men have orders to shoot anyone interfering with their search. They are on edge, since there was a terrorist attack in town last night. As I am sure you are aware.”

“Yes, I did hear of that.”

“Stay put, Count Vasseur,” Zeller said, his hand resting on the knife in the black scabbard on his belt. “That goes for all the residents of the château, including the lovely Juliet.”

“And what of Sonya?” I had to hand it to the count. Even in the face of these unsubtle threats, he played along with Zeller and brought up Sonya.