PETER AND ANJA, CHAPTER 20: THE ABBEY
One hour and two more checkpoints later, they had connected at the edge of the Ardennes Forest with Arpège, the French resistance fighter.
Grey Wolf motored off into the night as Arpège led them on foot off the main road and onto a trail that would lead them to a hillside village. Dawn was still hours away, and the moonlit trail was rugged.
Arpège led the way, with Frau Witman and Hannelore directly behind him, taking turns bearing a dimly lit lantern and holding Snuffy. Colonel Hogan and Herr Witman followed behind, carrying Grandmother in a two-handed seat carry, stepping along slowly and carefully. Anja came next with a lantern. Peter brought up the rear, his weapon drawn, surveying the woods as they went and looking over his shoulder at strategic intervals.
Halfway there, they were met by another Maquisard, Marcel, who took over from Colonel Hogan, freeing him to drop back and confer with his team. Hogan stood for a moment, waiting for Peter and Anja to catch up with him. As they approached, he heard a series of muffled sneezes. It was Anja. Peter followed behind her, clearing his throat in an effort to suppress a cough.
They're getting sick, Hogan thought. It wasn't surprising. They'd both been running ragged for eleven days since the troubles with the Hammelburg Underground cell first surfaced.
"Try not to sneeze," Hogan whispered as Anja caught up to him.
"You know that's unhealthy, don't you?" she said irritably. "When you suppress a sneeze it can cause damage to the ear drums."
"Yes, Doctor," Hogan said patiently. "But the other thing that's unhealthy is giving your location away and walking into the enemy's arms. If you pinch yourself on the lip or between your eyes or on the bridge of your nose, may be able to cut it off. At least it will be quieter."
"Understood, Sir," Peter said. He nodded at Anja, who got the hint and echoed his words: "Yes, Papa Bear."
As they traipsed along, they heard horses softly whinnying and they knew their transportation was at hand. They emerged from the woods into a narrow clearing and clambered into two wagons. Marcel drove one, with Hogan and the three elder Witmans on board; Arpège took the reins of the other one, with Peter, Anja, Hannelore and Snuffy as his passengers—and rattled down a dirt road. There was nothing in the area of even the slightest military significance, and therefore patrol coverage was light. Arpège and Marcel traced military movements constantly; it would be at least two hours before one showed up here.
The night had started out clear, but as dawn approached and they passed through the Ardennes, a light rain began to fall. Eventually, as they clopped along, a sprawling, squat Romanesque building with a spire loomed in front of them. Behind it, the sun was perched on the horizon, and the sky was draped with orange and yellow streaks.
Arpège slowed his pair of horses to a walk and turned to his young passengers. "That is the Abbaye de Floreffe," he said softly. "You will go through the north transept. Walk to the left toward the choir stalls. Stay there until your driver fetches you. It will be at least an hour. You'll hear a signal—two short whistles, then a long one. You'll respond with three short, one long."
"And Papa Bear knows?" Peter asked.
"He's instructing the others now," Arpège said, gesturing to the four people in the other wagon. "Marcel is leaving, but I will stay with you until our contact arrives."
"Is the Abbey abandoned?" Anja asked.
"Yes. The Abbots were taken east months ago, to a camp," Arpège said somberly, practically spitting the last word as he slowed his horses' gait. "There's a caretaker on the grounds, but he's harmless, and you'll be warm and dry inside."
From his seat in the wagon, Peter looked up with curiosity as the front of the abbey loomed before them, with wide stairs leading to square doors. Above the doors, a semi-circle stone carving showed saints and angels gathered around Jesus. The horses clip-clopped around to the side of the building, and the travelers disembarked in front of a much plainer entrance, a wide doorway surmounted by a rounded arch. They pushed open the oak door and piled inside.
The flutter of wings startled them as they moved toward the choir stalls.
"Bloody pigeons," Peter said as he jumped back in surprise, making Hannelore titter with laughter.
Anja elbowed him. "Peter! Don't swear in church!"
"Yes, Peter, listen to your girlfriend," Hannelore said mockingly.
"That's enough, children," Hogan said pointedly as the came up on the trio. "Quiet down. Newkirk, see if you can find a reasonably clean space where the ladies can rest." He looked over his shoulder. "Especially the grandmother." For an 81-year-old woman, she was doing remarkably well, but the strains of a long night were showing. Herr Witman had put down his coat on a pew, where she was perched, but her hand was on the back of her waist, underscoring her discomfort.
Newkirk did as he was told, and a few minutes later, the ladies of the party occupied cleaned-up seats in the choir staff and he had pried loose a kneeler from a pew to serve as the old woman's foot rest. Anja, however, refused to rest. She shadowed Colonel Hogan, who was guarding the door they'd entered, watching out for a vehicle.
Eventually Herr Witman took a seat beside his wife. He wasn't a saboteur or a soldier; he was a teacher and a youth leader whose qualifications for the Underground had everything to do with his brain—and his position—and nothing whatsoever to do with fitness. Fortunately, he was healthy and trim for a man of his age, but at the moment he was dead on his feet.
Peter was standing guard over the small group, watching as the Witmans slouched and slumbered, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned; it was Arpège.
"You are tired. Rest," he said firmly.
"I can't," Peter said, and then suddenly began to cough. From across the choir, he could see movement as Hogan and Anja's heads pivoted toward him; Arpège patted him on the back and handed him a canteen.
"Drink," the Maquisard commanded.
Peter obeyed, and the water eased the tickle in his throat, but not the heaviness in his limbs.
"Sit down," Arpège said as he reclaimed the canteen.
Peter waved a hand in his direction. "I've been sitting for hours, and I'll sit in the motor car," he told Arpège. "For now, I should stand watch."
Suddenly he heard a signal from Colonel Hogan—a low whistle that he knew meant "silence." He laid a hand on Arpège's arm and moved into a shadow.
Hogan had waved Anja back from the doorway. He was peering through it intently and Peter, Anja, Herr and Frau Witman and Arpège suddenly knew why. As silence descended in their corner of the abbey, over the soft snores of Oma and Hannelore, they heard heavy footsteps and a series of barks.
Snuffy was on his feet at once, yipping in reply, which in turn woke Oma and Hannelore. "Quiet, Snuffy," Hannelore said plain as day.
At that, the door swung open and a man held up a lantern. "Who's in here?" he demanded.