Breeding Ground (16 page)

“There were five of us altogether, counting Lebel and myself. A rightist O.R.A. member, Michel Pascal. Gabriel Aubrac, another moderate F.F.I. Étienne de la Rochère, second-in-command of the Communist F.T.P. None of us saw anything suspicious, and we were about to move upstairs when the Gestapo and the Vichy police crashed through the door. Lebel escaped out the back but was shot climbing the garden wall. I very much doubt they intended to kill him. He was worth far more alive than dead. That was why he had no intention of being taken alive.”

“Are you saying he let himself be shot?”

“No. He tried to escape. But he knew the identity of too many in the Resistance and every operation as well, and we all understood from the fate of others how effective Nazi torture was. He would've used his suicide pill if he hadn't been killed. He'd made that abundantly clear.”

Jack dropped his cigarette butt and drank half his water, then lit another Camel with a slow, unsteady hand. “The rest of us and three bystanders from the café were rounded up and thrown into vehicles belonging to the Gestapo and the Tours police.

“I was pushed, on my own, into the back of a German staff car with the Gestapo officer and his aide. Our car drove off first, and we'd begun to pick up speed down a narrow side street when the aide suddenly threw open the door – one of those doors that were hinged at the back – and shoved me out on the street.”

Jack was quiet for a moment, turning a kitchen match end over end, staring at the table. “There was no doubt in anyone's mind that there had to have been an informer. And because I was the only one released, I seemed the likely candidate. I was an inexperienced American. They hardly knew me. I could have drawn the attention of the Gestapo by a breach of procedure or a stupid mistake, without deliberate intent. I also had relatives in Paris the Gestapo could have threatened to harm if I didn't cooperate. Though I never once mentioned them, so how anyone would know, I certainly couldn't say.”

“Why would anyone compromise the group? Why do it deliberately?”

Jack coughed hard and sat back for a moment, then lit another cigarette, his thin face paler and more haggard than it had been in days, the fingers of his left hand tapping the arm of the chair till he looked down and made them stop by deliberately gripping the arm. “To say that I've given it a considerable amount of thought would be something of an understatement.”

“I'm sure.” The misery and humiliation on Jack's face made Alan stare up at the hilltop where cattle were making night noises in the dark beyond the barbed-wire fence.

“I think the betrayal must have resulted from the conflict and hostility among the Resistance groups.”

“You mean politics as usual?”

“There and then, yes. As I said, Jean Claude Lebel was the leader of the F.F.I. The F.T.P., France Tireurs et Partisans, was the largest Communist faction across France. Like Communists everywhere else in the world, they hadn't opposed the Nazis when Stalin and Hitler were allies. It wasn't until Hitler invaded Russia that they became Resistants. They also took orders from Stalin's foreign intelligence service, which we now call the K.G.B., and that didn't endear them to anyone else in France.

“O.R.A., the rightest group, the Organization de Résistance de l'Armée de l'Armistice, was largely affiliated with the army. Many had resigned from the army under the Vichy government. Others stayed in to undermine Vichy and pass military information to the Allies. They were sometimes monarchist and often devout Catholics, and were as hostile to the Communists as the F.T.P. members were to them.”

“I saw that tension in northern France everywhere I turned.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to waste your time with information you already possess.”

“No, no, I was just agreeing. It helps for you to explain exactly what you found in Tours.”

Jack stubbed out his cigarette and drank more water. “By April of '44, not too many weeks before D-Day, the leaders of all these groups believed that the Allies would defeat the Germans, and they were beginning to shift their focus to who would seize political control of France after the war.

“In the Loire valley, in Tours certainly, the Paris-appointed Prefect who governed the whole Loire area was universally hated, and the local mayor and his officials were widely detested. The only leader who had general support amongst the Resistants – who were the only locals who were armed and experienced, and could mobilize easily and wield political power too – was Jean Claude Lebel. Anyone who sought power after the war would have to be able to defeat him and his centrist supporters.”

“So eliminating him would open up the political field for someone ambitious, either for himself or for his faction?”

“Precisely.”

“You have anyone in mind?”

“I have my suspicions. But no proof of any kind.”

Jack didn't say anything else for a moment, and Alan watched him without prodding, giving him time to tell it whatever way was easiest for him.

“One of the couriers was a woman. Camille Reynard. A painting restorer by training and inclination, who taught at the lycée – what we would call high school – in Tours during the war. She was married to the leader of the local F.T.P.”

Jack stopped. And lit the two candles stuck on plates in the center of the table.

Alan waited. Longer than he wanted to before he said, “So?”

“She'd been a committed Communist herself earlier in the war, but by the time we met I saw in her a growing disdain for the party and the tactics they often employed. The assassination the F.T.P. had arranged in Nantes is a good example. There was an important German submarine base there, and the F.T.P. brought in a Communist assassin from another city to gun down the Nazi Commandant. The Commandant had actually been one of the few high-ranking officers in the Loire who'd treated the French with fairness and civility. And the Nazi retribution for his assassination was swift and terrible. They seized and executed a number of local hostages. Which did much to alienate many in the Loire region from the F.T.P.”

“Was the F.T.P. in Tours involved in the assassination?”

“No. But Camille's husband and those he led tried to justify the decision. In fact, it looked to me as though the arrogance and brutality Camille's husband sometimes exhibited offended and distressed her. He was a womanizer too. I'm sure that played a part. And I had the distinct impression their marriage was coming apart.”

“So how does that—”

“Her husband, Henri Reynard, was a very ambitious man. A highly intelligent man as well, who worked undercover for the Resistance as a photographer for the local newspaper. He took photographs of crime scenes for the Vichy police and Gestapo as well, thereby developing useful contacts in both that allowed him to gather information to help the Resistance. His loyalty to the Resistance seemed beyond question.”

“But you had reason to doubt that?”

“Primarily in retrospect. One could certainly see the intensity with which Henri Reynard fought with Lebel for supremacy, even though his tactics were subtle and his demeanor was well controlled. Lebel would put forth a plan for sabotaging a manufacturing plant or gathering intelligence in the Prefecture, and Reynard would put forth another. He would eventually acquiesce if he saw Lebel was supported by the rest, and he did so with reasonable grace. Reynard was not a hothead, but a careful political strategist. Who, I think, made it clear that he planned to pursue political power after the war.”

“So he didn't cross the line and challenge Lebel head-on?”

“It would have been pointless. He tried to persuade and gather support with his verbal acuity and abilities.” Jack picked up the matches before he said anything else.

“The significance of which is?”

“Everyone knew Lebel carried a suicide pill. He'd made it clear on many occasions that he wouldn't let himself be taken. And if Lebel were eliminated, there wasn't a centrist, a rightest, or a leftist in the local Resistance who had the trust and the leadership qualities to keep Reynard from taking the reins from Lebel then, or after the war, either one.”

“So if the Gestapo attacked, and Lebel didn't escape, everyone in the Resistance knew he was a dead man.”

“Yes. But Reynard was not in Tours the night of the meeting.” Jack lit another cigarette, then got up and paced the porch. “When the message was sent early that morning telling him of the meeting, he'd already left town on his bicycle. At least that's what he said. He'd gone to Esvres-sur-Indre, west of Tours toward Nantes, to meet a petty gangster who sometimes helped the Resistance by supplying transport and materiel. When working with the Resistance, the gangster, Emil Bouchard, invariably traveled some distance from Nantes, and would only meet with Reynard, changing the location each time.

“He claimed that Reynard didn't leave the old mill, where they met downriver from Esvres-sur-Indre, until five that afternoon, which wouldn't have given him time to bicycle back to Tours before the meeting.”

“And how would he have known where the meeting was, even if he did get back in time?”

“He wouldn't, in the normal course of things, but I think it could've been done. Couriers were sworn to secrecy, of course. And knowing what I know of Camille, I believe she wouldn't have told him a meeting was taking place or where it would be held. He went to meetings she didn't know about. She acted as a courier for meetings he didn't attend. No information was to be shared by husband or wife. He certainly knew there would be a meeting sometime that week. Lebel had said that at a meeting Reynard and I attended the previous Tuesday.

“So let's say Reynard left the apartment early each day, before his wife, then followed her to work, intending to see if she was contacted and given instructions for leading someone to the meeting place.”

“So—”

“All he had to do was give himself an alibi, in this case in Esvres-sur-Indre, though I'm sure he could've come up with something else. So let's say the day of the meeting, he'd seen her contacted on her way to school and knew she'd be acting as a courier that night. He'd simply establish his alibi for the day, then follow her from school in the evening and see where she led her Resistance contact. He could then phone a contact of his own in the Gestapo, having already arranged that he'd do so, and tell them where to go and to use me as the scapegoat.”

“Okay, but how did he get back from Esvres-sur-Indre in time? If the man he met with there was telling the truth?”

“What if he wasn't? He was a petty criminal. A comrade of Henri's, who only worked for the F.T.P. He lied as a way of life. And even if he didn't this time, Henri could've hitched a ride with a truck. One of the gazogenes coming east from Nantes. Throw the bike in the back, and bob's-your-uncle, he's back in Tours in plenty of time to follow his wife.”

“Could be. Maybe. But he couldn't count on a truck picking him up.”

“No, but—”

“Did he take over after Lebel was killed?”

“Yes. What there was left of the cell. Three were imprisoned and tortured, and twelve other arrests resulted, so the effectiveness of the group was destroyed overnight. At least from what I've been told. The O.S.S. got me out right away, with a great deal of difficulty, I might add. As I said before.”

“Through Spain?”

Jack nodded, but didn't answer, as the memory of crossing the mountains on foot swept across his face – the danger and pain, the frostbite and exhaustion, which Jack and Alan both knew had killed many more than survived.

“So what do you want me to do?” Allan sat slouched back in his chair, his hands clasped on the top of his head, his green eyes watching Jack blink and turn away.

“I've been told the gangster from Nantes, Emil Bouchard, was arrested for stealing Vichy property in Tours the day the Americans moved in. The police in Tours interrogated him, but he and his network were so prominent in the black market in the Loire, the Americans might well have questioned him too in the days that followed. Maybe the Army has records that would indicate something that could lead us to him now.”

“It's been eighteen years, Jack.”

“I know. I realize that's a stumbling block, but—”

“What do you know about Henri Reynard after the war?”

“Very little. I know he ran for local public office, and tried for a national position as well, and never achieved much success. When I first got back to the States, I was able to follow the elections in Tours by corresponding with a French professor who had ties to the University of Michigan whom I'd written to for help. But that didn't tell me anything very useful. And once I went up north, I… I abandoned the search. Reynard worked as a photographer right after the war, but then disappeared overnight. His disappearance was so complete, he must have changed his name and established another identity.”

“You don't even know if he stayed in Tours, or moved somewhere else?”

“No. But Paris would be an easier place to create a new persona.”

“Right.”

“Do you know anyone in the army now, or from the O.S.S. who went to the C.I.A., who could help sort through the records for Reynard and Bouchard?”

“Possibly. Let me give it some thought. Though it doesn't look to me like there's much of a chance of finding real proof of what actually happened. Reynard is only one possibility. You know there must be others. Someone somewhere in the chain of couriers and those who went to the meeting could simply have been overheard and followed by a collaborator. It could've been that simple.”

“Perhaps.” Jack started coughing then and poured himself more water. “Except I was made the scapegoat. The American outsider. Who wouldn't live there after the war to become an unwelcome adversary.”

“Still, the Gestapo could've picked you at random when they tossed you in the car, to protect the real informer. It wouldn't have had to be planned.”