They met in the back room of a cafe belonging to one of Claude’s friends. It was now too dangerous to go to La Librairie.
Claude sat on a bench against a grimy wall cleaning and oiling a rifle. Henri was seated at a plain wooden table with an untouched glass of wine in front of him. Logan paced the floor in front of him. There were only three of them; the war had brought many changes.
Logan didn’t know why he was so agitated. He wasn’t nervous. He didn’t think he was afraid. Yet he was unable to sit still. Perhaps it was because he knew he had something to do, but everything was taking too much time.
The air in the small, dimly lit room was pungent with the odor of cigarette smoke and cheap wine, and jovial voices drifting in from the cafe. It served to remind each person present how isolated he was from a normal existence—now more than ever.
Logan paused in his pacing and looked at Claude. “Why did you bring that thing in here?” he asked peevishly. “It’s bad enough that the place is crawling with Germans tonight.”
“It’s a pretty specimen, non?” returned Claude, purposefully ignoring the thrust of Logan’s remark. “A friend found it in the sewer and made it a special gift to me.” Claude almost let a smile slip across his scarred countenance. “Those criminals in the old days did not know that when they dumped their incriminating weapons, they would be arming the people for a revolution.”
“‘Divisés d’interêts, et pour le crime unis.’ Divided by interests, and united by crime.’” quoted Henri dryly.
“Bah!” spat Claude. “Even your de Gaulle has called the French people to revolution. That is the one good thing that will emerge from this war—a new France!”
“The old France was not so bad.”
“What do old men know?”
Henri merely grunted, apparently deciding that his time was best occupied with his wine. Then he looked up at Logan.
“Please, mon ami,” he said, “sit down. You are making us nervous.”
“It’s just that I had come here prepared to say my final goodbyes.”
“I know,” replied Henri. “But the delay could not be helped. Your new identification papers are not yet ready. And as I told you, Lise got word to me that she could not come. She was being watched and thought the danger to you would be too great.”
“I know,” said Logan, at last taking a chair. “And Paul?” he said after a pause. “Have you heard anything?”
“Whether he has talked? No, we have not heard. He is young and untried.”
“I hate to think of what they might do to him!”
“Then do not think of it,” said Henri. “You must trust us, that we will get him out. In the meantime, while we are making preparations for that, you must bide your time. You must remain until the new papers are ready, otherwise you will never get out of France. The rest of us have done what we can to protect ourselves.”
“Besides,” put in Claude flatly, “you and Lise were the only ones he could betray.”
“Do not fool yourself, Claude,” said Henri. “When one is in danger, all are in danger.”
“Philosophies!” muttered Claude as he cocked the rifle several times to work in the oil.
The room fell silent. This would be one of their last times together, yet the gathering lacked essential warmth. It would have been better, thought Logan, if Claude hadn’t come. But no, it was as much his fault as the Frenchman’s. He had been tense and short-tempered too. Mostly he was angry with himself for bringing about this catastrophe. He had played it too close—not just with the Jean Pierre rescue, but the whole Trinity business. He had started out too sure of himself, overconfident. Then when the reality of the dangers involved had gradually become clear, he was in so deep it seemed it could only end one way. He should have taken Henri’s advice and pulled out before it came to this.
But he hadn’t. He had been waiting for God to show him. Was this now God’s answer?
Even if by some miracle they got Paul out before he talked, he could not go on. Only last night he’d remembered that Paul not only knew a great deal about his operations in the French underground, he also knew Logan’s real name from that blunder he had made months ago when talking to the Scottish flyer they had helped escape. Too many threads were coming unraveled. In a way it was a relief. It would be over soon—it almost didn’t matter how it ended, only that he would be able to go back to a somewhat normal existence. Henri was right—he knew that now. His days as Michel Tanant were past.
But now that the die had been cast, it only added to his present tension to prolong the inevitable. It had been two days since Paul’s arrest. Logan had not been back to his room. He had already contacted Atkinson, but the major’s reply had been far from encouraging. A plane could not be spared; could he make it out over the Pyrenees? They’d keep trying on the aircraft, but just in case, he ought to get things rolling on the other option. Things had changed; the war was heating up. It wasn’t as easy as it used to be.
The prospect of still another identity to cope with, as well as weeks of travel through the south, now also occupied by the Nazis, was not an appealing one. It was nearly impossible to find guides willing to risk the Pyrenees crossing now that there were heavier German patrols guarding the frontier. Some were charging as much as 100,000 francs for the job, and Logan feared he would have to resort to his old shady life to garner that kind of money.
Well, maybe Atkinson will still find a way to dredge up a plane, thought Logan. But in the meantime, the uncertain waiting was hardest of all. Before he realized it, his thoughts had him pacing once more.
“I thought we’d have more to discuss,” said Logan, jamming his hands into his pockets and glancing around. “Maybe it wasn’t as necessary as I thought to get together.”
He paused. “I wanted to make sure I had a chance to say goodbye,” he went on. “But then Lise isn’t here, and the papers aren’t ready.”
“We will meet again in two days at this time,” said Henri. “You may see her then. I know that is what you are waiting for.”
Logan nodded. “The papers?”
“Hopefully by then as well, my friend,” replied Henri. “You have decided to travel south?”
“I must not remain any longer than absolutely necessary,” replied Logan. “If Lise doesn’t bring a message from London guaranteeing a plane, then I’ll leave as soon as I get the papers. I have a couple contacts in Lyon and Marseilles. Maybe by the time I get that far, London will have come up with something. But it will be best for me to keep moving.”
“Forty-eight hours, then,” said Henri, rising and putting a hand on Logan’s shoulder. Logan nodded, and they left the room, Henri to exit through the cafe, Logan to follow the corridor in the opposite direction and out through the rear door into the narrow alley.
Claude remained seated where he was several minutes more, a cynical gaze in his eye. Slowly he raised the rifle to his shoulder and took imaginary aim down its barrel. Gently he squeezed the trigger till the hammer released and clicked down upon the empty chamber with a resounding metallic echo that reverberated through the small darkened room.