End of Spies by Alex Gerlis (popular ebook readers .txt) 📕

for being both violent and incompetent. I think when he first came to Paris he was based at Avenue Foch, but then he was moved. As you know,’ she looked at them, ‘or maybe you don’t, each of the twenty arrondissements in Paris has its own town hall, a mairie. The Gestapo had an office in each mairie. If my memory serves me correctly, this Ferret character was based in the mairie of the 15th arrondissement. That is all I can tell you.’

Marguerite started to speak, but Hanne placed a hand on her arm to stop her and whispered in English, ‘Tell her that’s not good enough. She’s no fool. She’s obviously holding something back.’

‘Did you understand that, Lefebvre?’

The woman nodded her head.

‘We need something more than that.’

Her shoulders dropped as if in resignation.

‘Ask Charles Girard… and give the bastard my regards.’

Chapter 9

Paris, September 1945

No one in the mairie of the 15th arrondissement admitted that they’d heard of a Charles Girard or come across a blue-eyed blonde German who answered to the nickname of the Ferret. No one even knew about a Gestapo bureau in the building.

There was much shaking of heads. Try rue de Saussaies – number 11.

‘No, we understand this man worked here, in the mairie.’

Of the 15th? Not possible.

‘Are you certain – we were told the Gestapo did have an office here: perhaps a small one?’

More shaking of heads. Avenue Foch – that was Gestapo too, have you tried there?

They’d driven straight to the mairie from Fresnes after meeting Anna Lefebvre. It was a large building, stretching from rue Blomet on one side to rue Lecourbe on the other, and it took them the best part of two hours to work their way through it. Eventually Marguerite said they were wasting their time, they’d have to think of another way to find Charles Girard. She’d told the driver to park the Citroën further down rue Blomet, and they were walking back towards it when a young woman pushed between them as she hurried along the pavement. She paused to apologise before adding urgently that they should follow her and say nothing.

She turned into rue Gerbert and then continued on towards a church. The building was dark and empty apart from an elderly woman dressed in black dusting the pews in front of the altar. The young woman led them into a small side chapel that smelt of damp.

‘We’ll be safe here for a while. Hardly anyone comes in between masses. My name is Irène.’ She shook their hands formally. She was thin and pale and probably still in her twenties, though her face was lined and her long dark hair had flecks of grey in it. ‘It’s strange being in here again, in a clandestine manner: this church is Saint-Lambert de Vaugirard, and we used it during the war. The priest was very helpful.’

‘We?’ Marguerite looked suspicious. ‘I think you need to tell us who you are, Irène.’

‘I work in the mairie. I heard the questions you were asking and saw how reluctant people were to help you, which doesn’t surprise me. I think I can help. You ask what I meant by “we”. I was FTP.’

She paused and looked at them carefully. Marguerite addressed Hanne and Prince in English. ‘The FTP was – is – Francs-Tireurs et Partisans. It was the communist resistance. You were in it throughout the war?’

Irène nodded. ‘I speak good English if that helps. I studied it at university.’

‘Hang on.’ Marguerite sounded suspicious. ‘Let me ask you some questions first. Which unit were you in?’

‘Grenelle.’

‘So near here?’

‘Very near.’

‘I know about Grenelle: where did you meet?’

‘At first we met in an apartment in rue Violet, at number 41. Then we used the school across the road. The caretaker was a sympathiser and allowed us access to the basement: we stored weapons there too.’

‘Who recruited you?’

‘I only ever knew him as Major Marcel. He was arrested by the Nazis in March 1943 and tortured in Fresnes and then executed. For a while our group was dormant until we were sure Marcel had not divulged anything about us. That’s when we moved our base to the school.’

‘And give me the name of the person who commanded the group after that?’

‘Well actually we merged with another group – the idea I think was to move from small cells to larger ones. The group we merged with was based around Gare Montparnasse.’

‘That was commanded by Captain Edouard, right?’

‘No, there was no Captain Edouard. It was a woman: Germaine.’

Marguerite nodded. ‘How come you joined the FTP: are you a communist?’

Irène shrugged, as if she’d not really thought about it. ‘Maybe… I was married to one, though. My husband, David, was a Polish Jew who’d moved here when he was a boy, and he was a party member. When the occupation started and the restrictions on Jews came into force, he insisted we get divorced so as to protect me. I didn’t want to, but he was adamant. I hoped we could escape from Paris, maybe head south, but it became impossible. I was working at the mairie here and continued to do so throughout the war. David moved around Paris and we met whenever we could. In July 1942, he was living in a room in the 9th, and that was when he was arrested in the grand rafle, the round-up of Jews. He was taken to the Vélodrome d’Hiver, and when I went there to find out what had happened to him, a police officer – a French police officer – told me he’d gone home to Poland and laughed.’

‘Auschwitz?’ It was the first time Hanne had spoken.

Irène nodded.

‘I was at Ravensbrück,’ said Hanne, taking the French girl’s hand.

‘You’re Jewish?’

‘No: I’m Danish. I was a British agent – with Richard.’ She turned to Prince and smiled. ‘So I understand, a little.’

Irène was lost in her thoughts for a while. ‘That was when I joined the FTP – a friend of David’s arranged it. I’d avoided being