Nathalie went through everything over and over again in her head, but she couldn’t rid herself of the deep sense of unease in the pit of the stomach. At the stroke of midnight, she left the house with the Reynauds. They headed towards the Seine where they parted. Nathalie walked to Paul’s house alone. As always, the escape was calculated to take place in the first phase of the lunar month when the moon was least bright. Tonight was one of those nights. Except for the bridge itself, there appeared to be no trucks with searchlights in the area.
She was within sight of Paul’s house when she heard footsteps behind her. She swung around to look but there was no one in sight. She hurried on and at a point, several houses before Paul’s, slipped into the recess of a large doorway and hid in the shadows. The footsteps drew nearer and suddenly stopped near the doorway. Nathalie’s heart thudded loudly in her breast. It was at times like this that she wished she had a gun.
After a few seconds, the footsteps continued. She waited until they’d faded away and then peeked into the street. It was empty. Gaining her composure, she stepped back into the street and hurried to Paul’s. The door was ajar. She knocked softly and pushed it open,
‘You’re late,’ said Paul, stepping out of the shadows.
‘I’m sorry, I was being cautious, I thought...’ She stopped mid-sentence.
A second person stepped out of the shadows. Gilbert.
Before Nathalie could say more, Paul turned to Gilbert and told him to get a move on.
‘Don’t forget to signal when you’re ready,’ he added.
Several minutes passed and Nathalie could see Paul was becoming anxious.
‘What in God’s name is he doing?’ he whispered.
A light flashed and they breathed a sigh of relief. Nathalie estimated that Gilbert had taken twice as long as Pierre to pick the locks. Clearly he was not as skilled as he led them to believe.
‘Come on,’ Paul said, relieved to be on the move. ‘Let’s go.’
When they reached the steps, the door to the sewer was open but there were no escapees.
‘Merde!’ cursed Paul. ‘Where are they?’
He took a few steps inside the entrance and listened. There was no sound of footsteps.
‘We’ll give them five minutes. If they’re not here by then, we abort the mission.’
They listened for what seemed like an eternity, but the only noises they heard were the strange groaning and clanking sounds emanating towards them through the dark, dank and humid subterranean passageways. Nathalie was reminded of the scene in Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables, where Jean Valjean carried the body of Marius into the sewers after a battle. Now she prayed there would be no bodies of their own.
When the five minutes was up, Paul shook his head in despair. ‘Something has gone terribly wrong. The “package“ has gone astray. We have to let the others know immediately.’ He turned to Gilbert. ‘Lock this door and put the chains back in place straight away. Nathalie, keep a lookout.’
She scrambled back up the stairs and was relieved to see the street still silent and empty.
‘This is where we part ways,’ Paul said to her. ‘I want you to go back home immediately. Gilbert, you will come with me to warn the others.’
Nathalie took the circuitous route back to rue Frédéric Chopin and decided to wait in the shop until the Reynauds arrived back safe and sound. It was almost two in the morning and she was at her wit’s end. The minutes ticked by. What if they were all caught? The Gestapo would come for her, and as much as she tried to be brave, she didn’t think she would be able to withstand torture. The thought made her sick to the stomach. This was exactly what her parents had warned her against. This was the price of freedom.
She heard the door open. The Reynauds were back.
Antoine placed his gun on the table and pulled out a bottle of cognac. ‘We all got away safely, thank God. Paul’s gone to the safe house to see what’s happened. He’ll let us know in the morning. That is unless the Gestapo have got wind of us.’
He drank the cognac in one go and poured another. ‘I’d better hide this,’ he said picking up the gun, ‘in case we have unexpected visitors.’
Mme Reynaud took it from him and looked around for somewhere to hide it. She picked up the nearest bucket, removed the container of flowers, and then slipped the gun inside placing the flowers back on top.
‘We have Nathalie to thank for that clever idea,’ she said.
For a brief moment, her comment raised a smile, but it would not last. With each hour that passed, their fears grew. At around seven o’clock in the morning, the telephone rang. Antoine answered it.
‘Oui.’
Mme Reynaud and Nathalie watched his face.
‘Merci,’ he said, and slowly lowered the receiver.
The look on his face told them the news was bad. Mme Reynaud clasped her hands to her face.
‘No, no, not again. We’ve been so careful.’
Nathalie bit her lip to stop herself from crying.
Several hours later, Paul arrived and told them what took place. The Gestapo had the safe house staked out. They waited until Sylvie entered and then raided it. The seven escapees all had forged identity cards, but under threat of execution, one of them admitted to being a Jew. They were immediately taken away to a holding area at Drancy. Paul’s informants at the camp told him a train would be leaving for Poland that night and it was likely they would be on it.
‘What about Sylvie?’ asked Mme Reynaud.
Paul knitted his brows together and gave a painful sigh. ‘She’s been taken to Avenue Foch where she’s probably being interrogated as we speak. We can only pray she won’t break.’
‘Then they still don’t know about Pont de l’Alma and the barges?’ she asked.
‘Not yet. We can be thankful they hadn’t reached the sewers. I’m sure that if they knew we were using the coal-barges, they would have waited to catch the men red-handed.’
The depth of despondency was written on his face. ‘As for Sylvie,’ he added, ‘it’s still an offence to aid Jews, let alone provide them with false documents. This is not something she can get out of easily. I wish to God I’d sent a man to the house instead of her. The escape was so meticulously planned, yet I can’t help feeling responsible for them all. ’
‘You are not to blame,’ Antoine said. ‘We all agreed that a woman would appear less suspicious going to the house whilst the men waited nearby.’
‘But they were not nearby, were they?’ Paul replied. ‘They were several streets away. She shouldn’t have been alone.’
He looked at his watch. ‘I must leave; I have other business to attend to. For the moment, all operations are cancelled until we see how this pans out.’
‘What about the new IDs? Gilbert was supposed to collect them this week.’
Gilbert, Nathalie thought to herself. She recalled the raid after he’d dropped the other IDs off. And he was the only one to escape the night Anna was killed. She had a bad feeling about him but if she voiced this to the others, they would think her paranoid. Without proof, she could do nothing.
‘Leave it to me,’ he replied. ‘I will pick them up myself.’
He turned his attention to Nathalie. ‘Antoine told me you wanted to learn how to use a gun. In light of recent events, I think it’s an excellent idea. In fact, we should all carry them from now on. Come to my house tomorrow and I will see what I can do for you.’
Over the next few days, Paul taught Nathalie everything he could about firearms. After several days of target practice in a disused warehouse, he gave her a small Pistolet wx, a Polish single-action, semi-automatic, known to be extremely reliable and accurate.
‘You’re an excellent shot, Mademoiselle Fontaine,’ he said with a smile, ‘but let’s hope you never have to use it.’