The French Promise (41 page)

‘What are you blathering about, Ravensburg?’ The
handgun shook just a fraction more in the
scared man’s hand.

‘Simple. Save the Mossad having to drug you and drag you back to Israel and save everyone – especially your wife and daughters – the theatre of a trial. That’s all it would be – pure show, because the evidence against you is damning. There is no way out. You can drag it out a bit longer and maybe count the days until you’re hung by your cowardly neck and your ashes
are scattered in open sea where no one will mourn you because no one will know where your final resting place is. It will be in no man’s land, belonging to no nation. You will not be German or French. You will simply be loathed as a cowardly Nazi.’

Von Schleigel blinked behind his glasses and snarled. ‘I have only one bullet in this pistol. It has your name on it.’

‘Do I look as though I care?’

‘No. In truth, you don’t.’ Von Schleigel cocked the pistol and Luc watched his enemy’s finger settle more firmly on the trigger.

Max and Jane reached Cavaillon by rail and then took a coach across the 30 kilometres to Apt, the major hub of the Luberon. Here, they checked in to a small gite on the town’s outskirts as an aunt and nephew.

‘So, what now?’ Jane asked.

‘Well, you enjoy a few days in this pretty, historic part of the south. Saignon, where Luc comes from, is just up
there.’ He pointed her gaze to the hills looming above the narrow streets they were now walking, looking for the coach terminus. ‘A taxi can take you there in a couple of minutes.’

Her expression changed to grave by the time Max finished.

‘And you?’

‘I will return to Fontaine-de-Vaucluse.’

‘Let me come with—’

‘No, Jane. Please. I have no idea what I’m walking into but I am not taking you with
me. Luc would flay me. I’ll be happier knowing you’re safe and away from trouble. I’m sure
Luc will be doing the same with Jenny. All I’m going to do is intercept him, I promise.’

‘You don’t even know if he will come, or how or when.’

‘No, that’s true. But if I were a gambling man, I’d bet wholeheartedly that he will arrive shortly and I plan to be there to stop him doing anything that
might put him in jeopardy. I placed him in this danger.’

She nodded. ‘Yes, you did.’

It had all seemed so exciting, Max recalled, making the connections, unravelling the mystery. Even the triumph of presenting Luc with the information about von Schleigel had given him such a buzz that he’d not fully taken into account the potential repercussions. He’d given Luc details of how to make contact with
Israeli Secret Intelligence but Luc was an angry man – a grieving man now – with years of pent-up rage and a need for revenge.

‘So, let me get him out of it. I think it will be easier to talk with him if I’m alone,’ Max assured. ‘You will only complicate things, especially now we know he thinks you’ve betrayed him.’

Jane flinched at his words. ‘You will assure him, won’t you,’ she said, anxious,
‘that I was just—’

‘Of course. Now, I must get going. If he visited Mont Mouchet as you believe, then my gut feeling is that he’ll arrive by train. It’s the easiest link.’

‘I can’t admit to knowing him that well but I suspect Luc is not predictable. Don’t assume anything.’

He nodded, gave her a kiss. ‘I won’t, I promise.’

‘Max?’

He turned back.

‘Please be careful. I’m just as keen to see you safe
as well.’

He smiled, stepped back and gave her a hug. ‘I wish it were otherwise but I’m no hero like my father. Please don’t worry about me. There’s my bus.’

Max didn’t really have a plan and he didn’t know how Luc would arrive. It was logical that he would watch the café, but from where and when? Max’s only certainty was that Luc would likely be sharing the trek up the mountain with
von Schleigel, using his disguise.

And so Max had spent a freezing first predawn up on the summit. No one came. He had to presume that Luc would follow through with the plan to confront von Schleigel here, in this isolated spot. If it was anywhere else, then Max was going to fail. He waited an additional freezing hour until the sun was fully risen before returning to the town with mixed feelings
of disappointment spiced with relief.

He followed an identical plan on this second chill-laden morning, rising well before the birds and, with the help of a torch, made his way to the summit with his blanket and other supplies to keep him warm and alert, hoping the two men turned up.

This time he was about to be rewarded. The waterfall drowned any distant sound and it was Luc Max first saw crest
the summit of the waterfall in that long, easy stride of his. But it looked as though he was alone. Max very nearly stepped out with a smile and wave but in that moment of shaking off the blanket around him he heard another voice. In the murky light he recognised Horst von Schleigel. And he had a handgun levelled at Luc’s back.

Max froze with shock. It had not occurred to him that the cunning
old fox was slave enough to his suspicions that he would carry a gun around. What to do? He didn’t dare startle
von Schleigel and risk the gun being fired, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that the situation looked dire. He was certain there would be no witnesses to the two men ascending the hill, which meant one or the other, or even both, could die up here, with no one being any the wiser except
him. How would he possibly explain it?

With all of this swirling around him and his logical mind needing to make sense of the next best step, he remained unmoving. Max had never planned to use his father’s revolver that he’d discovered in Kilian’s personal effects, sent to his mother during the late 1940s. If anything, he’d brought it along for show – a scare tactic. But it was fast
becoming obvious that the situation had spiralled out of Luc’s control and every second seemed to be ticking closer to tragedy. Max could hear Luc goading his enemy, seemingly willing him to pull the trigger, and even though von Schleigel held the upper hand, Max could hear in the man’s voice that he was losing control and might very likely just fire in rage.

He’d underestimated the wily man of
lavender, too. Max listened to Luc telling von Schleigel that he had telegrammed the Mossad, so no matter what happened now, the Gestapo coward was officially a marked man.

Max watched von Schleigel click the safety catch on his Walther P38. The decision was made for him. Despite his inexperience, Max had taken the time and trouble to learn about his father’s weapon, so he knew no one released
the safety catch unless they wanted to let loose a round from the chamber. If Max didn’t threaten von Schleigel now, Luc would almost surely die. Without thinking the situation through any further, he leapt out of his hiding place and saw Luc’s gaze shift in astonishment.

Max made sure that von Schleigel felt the tip of Kilian’s pistol barrel touch the back of his head.

‘Pull that trigger,
monsieur
, and I promise you’ll follow him over the top.’

‘Who the—?’

‘I am the son of Colonel Markus Kilian. And I do believe I hate the Nazi creed and cowardice as much as my father did.’

‘Kilian’s son?’ von Schleigel spluttered. ‘I don’t believe you.’

Max could hear the shock in the man’s voice. ‘I have no reason to lie to you, von Schleigel. Remember the tourist who ordered his ice
cream in German? I remember how you faltered. You covered your alarm well, though. But I was on to you by then and none of the safety layers you’d built around yourself could hide the fact you were the cruel murderer I had read about in the German archives. Your war crimes brought me and my father’s enemy, Monsieur Ravens, together. And I’ve delivered you to him.’

Von Schleigel began to turn.
‘Kilian, I—’

‘Don’t!’ Max warned, and took the safety catch off his father’s revolver, hoping his shaking hands didn’t give him away. ‘And my name is not Kilian. Lower your gun.’

‘You shouldn’t be here, Max!’ Luc interrupted the two men angrily, taking a step forward until his body virtually touched the gun pointed at him.

On the rim of his terrified mind, Max wondered why his friend would move
closer to death.

‘Whoever you are, I feel you shaking,’ von Schleigel said snidely. ‘I don’t think somehow the fine colonel’s son has got the courage to shoot. But you see, I do.’

He fired.

‘No!’ Max yelled and, at the same moment, helplessly shoved Luc’s would-be killer in the back in despair as he watched his friend begin to double up with a groan. Von Schleigel’s pistol flew out of his hand,
landing harmlessly on the ground.

Luc heard the explosive sound but in that split second of confusion believed it was Max’s gun that had been fired. It was only as he looked down at his hands that he saw the bloom of blood, and then the shock of being shot at point-blank range hit his consciousness. As he began to crumple, he felt von Schleigel shoved into him. Instinctively his hands
gripped the man’s lapels and together they toppled, both scrabbling for purchase on the slippery, moss-covered rock.

They’d have both gone over the edge if not for Max’s quick grab at Luc and a tentative grip on his wax jacket. He squatted, holding as tightly as he could. Von Schleigel had toppled over the ledge to hang off the cliff face, but was attached to Luc.

‘Hold on!’ Max pleaded, pulling
hard, his father’s gun on the ground.

‘He’s got me … my legs,’ Luc gasped.

Max hauled at his friend, the ridged soles of his walking boots finding some traction on the summit’s surface, but all he felt was more drag; von Schleigel was clinging grimly to Luc.

‘Kick him!’ Max urged.

Luc tried, grimacing, breathing hard.

‘Again!’ He felt Luc kick.

‘I’m taking you with me, Ravensburg,’ von Schleigel
promised, one eye blotted out by the crushed lens of his
glasses from one of Luc’s strikes. The roar of the waterfall nearly drowned out his cries from below.

‘All the way to hell!’ Luc growled back and he looked up at Max. ‘Let me go.’

Max moved his head from side to side in shock. ‘No way.’

‘I have to finish this.’

‘You’ve been shot,’ Max hissed.

‘And now I know I’ve only got minutes
before shock gets the better of my body. Let me go, Max. Please.’

‘You don’t have a weapon!’

‘I have all I need. I can finish it. Drop me, Max,’ he said, his breath laboured. ‘There’s a ledge below.’

‘I …’ Max was lost. But hearing Luc’s grimacing plea forced his hand. ‘I’m going for help. Jane’s in Apt. She’s waiting for me to bring you back.’

Luc nodded wearily. ‘I don’t want help. Bring no
one.’

‘But you could—’

‘Max!’ Luc yelled. ‘Let me end it. Tell no one about me or the Mossad, or the file. Go fetch my daughter in l’Isle sur la Sorgue and the young man called Robert who is with her. I need you to look after them both.’

Max nodded unhappily.

‘I mean it, Max. Robert is to be provided for. I need to hear you say it.’

‘I promise,’ Max said, with no idea who he was promising to help
but meaning it.

‘Your father was a man of his word. I’m trusting that his blood runs thick in your veins. Now … let me go. I too have a promise to keep.’

Torn with indecision, it was Luc’s last few words, spoken through gritted teeth, that finally prompted him to let go.
With a mix of horror and despair, Max watched as the two men dropped. He heard von Schleigel’s shrill cry but Luc fell silently;
Max watched his friend’s shoulder collide with the rock face before he crumpled on the ledge below, landing heavily on top of von Schleigel.

Both men lay lifeless.

‘Luc,’ Max cried. ‘
Luc
!’

Nothing stirred but the waters and a sharp cold wind that made the branches of the bare trees shiver around him. Max made his decision. He retrieved his father’s gun, cleaned it hurriedly
of any fingerprints and then hurled it into the rushing river below. He couldn’t risk it being found on him. Then he was running down the descent as though he were hurtling through time, racing a clock of death.

Luc came back to consciousness and was momentarily disoriented but then pain swelled sharply through his body, emanating from his left side, and the sensation of weakness became more apparent. His shoulder ached vaguely too but it was not broken. The thunderous sound of water rushing past was distracting and he could taste its fine, freezing spray on his
lips, which he licked greedily. The cold against his cheeks roused him sufficiently that he could now focus again. He had no idea how bad the damage was but he suspected that at the range the bullet entered him, it probably left just as cleanly, speeding through his body. Whether it had hit any major organ was doubtful or he would have bled out, never to regain consciousness. But he was bleeding
and that remained dangerous.

Beneath him lay the still form of von Schleigel. Luc couldn’t bear that their bodies were touching and he rolled off him with an effort.

‘I hope you’re dead, von Schleigel,’ he growled.

The prone form groaned.

‘Give me strength,’ Luc murmured. He hauled himself into a sitting position and took several deep breaths. He was surprised that he didn’t feel as
weak as he’d anticipated but now he couldn’t feel anything much at all, if he was honest, other than hate. His side was numb but it was accompanied by a vague burning sensation. He didn’t care. He had to stay alive long enough to see von Schleigel to hell.

The P38 had been a surprise that changed everything. For Jenny’s sake and because his conscience had got the better of him, Luc had given up
on his intent to take revenge on von Schleigel himself, after hearing Robert’s threat to not give the requested letter to Jenny. He had only hoped to leave his enemy with the terrifying news about the Mossad and that his enemy was now a man being hunted by real assassins. No mercy would be shown to von Schleigel; that’s what had pleased Luc and he’d even tidied up his scattered emotions with the
neat thought that it was appropriate that a Jew would decide the fate of this Nazi puppet rather than a confused German-born, French-raised Australian.

But with his plans gone awry it was now clearly a death struggle, and it came down to which of them could stay alive long enough to overpower the other. Luc wanted to shove von Schleigel off the cliff edge into the beautiful depths, hoping his
head would smash on rocks before the water drowned him, but even that vision was tempered by his need to look into the small, cruel eyes of von Schleigel and properly farewell him. It seemed far too cowardly to cast him off the ledge now while he was unconscious. Besides, he had to make sure …

He kicked him cruelly. ‘Wake up!’

Von Schleigel moaned. He was badly hurt, that much was obvious. Luc
hoped major bones were smashed, especially with his own weight falling on top to sandwich his enemy between him and the rock. He undid his own jacket to see fresh blood, shockingly bright beneath the winter sun, and he winced at the strong smell of iron. He wondered how long he had. His ironic gust of mirth appeared to rouse his enemy.

‘What are you laughing at, Ravensburg? You’re the
one who got shot,’ von Schleigel baited, coming to full consciousness finally, but his rally was short-lived. The grimace that stampeded after it told Luc far more about how his companion was feeling.

‘Even shot I look in better shape than you. Now, do you want the good news or the bad news?’

‘Fuck you!’

For some reason the curse amused Luc even more. He tutted loudly, and with a genuine smile.
‘So,’ he began, breathing hard, but his glee giving him the adrenaline he needed, ‘the good news is that your gracious act of cushioning my fall means I can’t feel any broken bones; a bruised shoulder is all. But looking at that hip of yours makes me believe that is a nasty break.’

Von Schleigel gave a low growl like an animal as he tried to sit up. He fell back again and much to Luc’s small pleasure
he noticed his glasses were smashed on the rock nearby. He could see the man’s pasty skin was hinting at grey, and despite the cold and the water spray, Luc suspected von Schleigel was perspiring in agony.

‘Anyway, the bad news is that the Mossad is still coming. You have no weapon – that’s above us – and there’s no way I’m letting you climb anywhere, nor will your injuries.
And even worse for
you is that my companion has gone for help,’ Luc lied. ‘He’ll go straight to the police, who’ll have questions about bullet wounds and firearms. It will be your word against ours that he ever brandished one. That leaves you the only one with the gun; you’re the one who fired it at a helpless, unarmed man.’

Luc paused. ‘Whichever way you try to picture this, von Schleigel, uncomfortable
questions will be asked and your identity will be revealed when they start to look at your service pistol and more closely at your identification papers … and of course my file, which I have several copies of. Don’t you want to save your family the humiliation?’ It had taken quite some effort for Luc to sound as confident and nonchalant as he did now, especially when he could already sense the
fever that was beginning to erupt. From previous experience he guessed he had an hour or so at best to get away from this place.

‘What are you going to do, Ravensburg? Push me off this ledge?’ He grabbed Luc’s leg. ‘Because I promise you, I’ll take you with me. You know I have nothing to lose.’

‘Ah, but you have everything to lose,’ Luc replied, calm as a sleeping cat. ‘I have no intention of
killing you. I don’t want your filthy blood anywhere on my hands. Mossad agents will do that for me.’

‘But you don’t mind my blood on your conscience.’

‘No, von Schleigel. I will relish it.’

‘So what is your bargain?’

‘Only this. I can make it possible that you can steal your life from the Israeli Secret Intelligence and still lose nothing that matters.’

Von Schleigel actually laughed, although
his breath was
coming in short gasps now. ‘“Nothing that matters” is all about perspective.’ He was soon wincing again.

‘I will let you take all your secrets to the grave. I have no issue with your wife or your daughters. And I have no wish to personally cause them any further grief than what your death will bring.’

‘How magnanimous of you,’ his enemy croaked.

‘I think so, given what
you personally did to my two sisters.’ He waited. His companion said nothing but Luc suspected he was, for the first time, weighing up his mortality. ‘This way, your death will be on your own terms.’

‘No! It’s on your terms,’ von Schleigel spat and the effort cost him.

Luc smiled. ‘I’m a generous man, Kriminaldirektor. The Mossad will not be so charitable and they will make sure your family’s
name is besmirched. My method ensures a clean, swift end … people will be bewildered by your suicide but at least they will never know why.’

‘And how do you propose I do this ugly deed, Ravensburg? I refuse to jump. You refuse to push. Where is the weapon?’

Luc smiled.

Max ran like a man possessed. He tormented himself with thoughts of Luc dying next to his enemy on an isolated, slippery, water-drenched
ledge. And it would be his fault. He was bleeding out on a mountain top, shot with a Gestapo pistol by a bigoted, ageing Nazi. And Luc was prepared to die – that was the worst part.

Max was going to break his promise. He had to save him – as his father had in 1944 – for Jenny, for Jane, and especially for Lisette, whom he’d defied. He would run until his lungs burnt and his legs trembled. Max
tripped, fell, rolled, but
didn’t even look at his ripped trousers, his bleeding knees. He picked himself up, straightened his pack and set off again, his breath coming in rasps, his muscles tense from the speedy descent, but he could see the town spreading before him and the terrain was flattening out. But still he refused to slow. He ran on, past von Schleigel’s café into the main part of the
town to where he knew the local
gendarmerie
was.

He ran in, shouting for help.

When Max returned to the summit with a small troop of men following him, including police and medicos, they arrived – many of them breathless – to discover a grisly death scene. Gasps were heard from all who peered over the edge of the cliff face to see one of Fontaine-de-Vaucluse’s favourites, his lower half
twisted at a horrible angle, while his mouth was contorted in a rictus of agony.

When he’d charged into the
gendarmerie
, barely able to speak, a small voice in Max’s mind warned him not to break faith with Luc fully. He remembered Luc comparing him to his father – hoping that Max would live up to Markus Kilian’s being a man of his word. Standing there, with a small crowd of men looking bewildered
by his explosive arrival and with a nag in his thoughts that he should keep at least one promise to his friend, he proceeded with caution, begging the police to help him with a man who was hurt. That’s all he would say. Their questions –
Who? When? What? How?
– had been met with the same bewildered response: ‘I don’t know.’

He planned to determine what to reveal only once they’d reached
the summit, but now here, Max stared down at what was clearly the corpse of Horst von Schleigel … but only him.

He blinked, stunned.

He looked around but there was no sign of Luc, mercifully not even blood. How had von Schleigel died? The only clue was that his glasses, one lens broken, the other shattered and fallen from the frame, had been returned to his face. The medicos carefully climbed
their way down to the lifeless figure on the ledge.

‘He was alive, you said,’ the senior policeman berated Max.

‘Yes, I came to get help. He looked angry, pointed a gun at me,’ Max said.
Where was Luc?
Wherever he was, he’d not died here or they’d have spotted his body in the waters on the way up. So he’d got away? To die? Max refused to believe it.

‘And?’

‘He pointed the gun
at me, told me in no uncertain terms to leave him alone and not interfere. I was scared,
monsieur
. I didn’t know if the weapon was loaded but he looked like he’d use it on me, if not himself.’

‘So where is this gun?’

Max shrugged. He knew where it should be. ‘I have no idea.’

‘Do you know who this is?’ the man implored, sounding so shaken that Max felt sorry for the
gendarme
.

He shook his head. ‘I am a tourist, monsieur,’ he said. He pulled out his instamatic camera. ‘I wanted to take some photographs of the sunrise.’ This must have been how it was for people like Luc during the war, living by their wits, making up plausible lies on the spot, except in his father’s time men like Luc could have been summarily shot for just looking at their interrogator the wrong way.

‘Tell me again, son,’ the man said, as they watched a medico check for von Schleigel’s vital signs.

‘Anything?’ the senior policeman called down.

‘Unless I’m mistaken, he’s taken poison.’

‘What?’

‘A post-mortem will confirm it.’

The policeman turned and scowled at Max. ‘Go on.’

Max took a deep breath, covering his amazement. He shook his head with innocence. ‘I came up here and think
I surprised that man,’ he pointed. ‘He was definitely angry to see me. Demanded to know what I was doing up here, and that’s when I saw the pistol.’

The policeman held up a hand. ‘Have we found this gun he keeps referring to?’

‘Over here,’ one of his men yelled, emerging from the bushes with von Schleigel’s weapon held gingerly with the aid of a handkerchief. He whistled. ‘Walther P38.’

The senior
officer nodded. ‘Get that checked for fingerprints.’ He returned a withering gaze to Max. ‘And?’

He shrugged again. ‘I was frightened. Wouldn’t you be? He told me to leave him or he’d shoot me before he killed himself.’

‘He told you that’s what he was going to do?’

Max nodded. ‘I believed him, although he seemed to be trying to find the courage to jump. But that’s only how it looked to me. I just
turned and ran.’

‘But when you came to us you said a man had been injured.’

Max felt his insides tighten. He had said that. ‘Yes, I thought I heard him yell as I left. I didn’t hear a gunshot, which is why I’m presuming he jumped, or perhaps fell. I don’t know – the waterfall is loud; the gun could have been fired. I was slightly panicked. I knew I needed to get help.’
Max was breathing hard.
Was this lie convincing? He forged on. ‘Who is he?’

‘Monsieur Segal is a prominent local business owner. I cannot imagine what prompted him to do such a terrible thing. But he has a wife who is probably wondering where he is right now, and a family to be told of traumatic tidings just before Christmas.’ The officer rubbed his eyes wearily, as though imagining the conversation ahead.
‘Right, you’ll be required to make a formal statement and I’ll need to check your fingerprints.’

Max lifted a shoulder as though he wasn’t intimidated by any of this. ‘Of course. I’m very sorry about his family.’

‘You did your best.’

‘I was trying to save a life,’ Max said carefully, honestly. ‘Sir, I am due in l’Isle sur la Sorgue later today. And I will be returning to Lausanne shortly.’

‘One
of my men can drive you to l’Isle sur la Sorgue when we’re done.’

Max gave the impression he was grateful for the suggestion. ‘It’s okay. I can take a later train.’ He needed to ring Jane. She would have to find Jenny; he knew he could count on her to do so.

He was thinking this as his mind inevitably reached towards Luc and whether he was bleeding to death in the scrub somewhere. He must hold
his nerve, Max knew. This is how Luc wanted it and it was the least he could do for him.

Luc had stayed with his enemy in the same show of respect that he had given his former enemy, Colonel Kilian, more than twenty years earlier.

‘You don’t deserve it,’ he’d said in answer to von Schleigel’s
wish for him to remain until it was over. He had to admire him in a bitter way; the man was impressively
calm in the face of death and the extreme pain he was surely bearing.

Von Schleigel had nodded. ‘But I know you’re a man of your word – you’ve proven that. Besides, you might as well make sure it works.’