Wednesday 5th April
Nantes was a place Dalgliesh knew well. He'd spent many an hour in its bars and clubs when he was younger and on shore leave. Not that the city looked the same as it had. Bombing had taken its toll. Now, six months later, the city was getting on with business, just with fewer people and buildings held up by scaffolding.
The five 'workmen' left the station in two groups to avoid calling too much attention to themselves. Dalgliesh with Casino, Actor with Goniff and Chief. The guards didn't seem too interested in anyone disembarking from the Orleans train and, even if they had, they were confident that their papers would have stood up to scrutiny. There was no sign of any Gestapo presence or senior army officers.
"Where we headin'?" Casino walked alongside Dalgliesh, keeping his head down, the brow of his cap shading his face. He felt naked without the comfort of a Sten gun in his hands. It was nestled under a few items of clothing in his hold-all, but that was no use if it was needed in a hurry.
"Nowhere in particular." Dalgliesh replied quietly, to avoid being overheard. "They'll find us soon enough." Despite his words, the Scot was walking slowly north and west, towards the Cathedral.
In fact, the two reached the Cours St Pierre, in front of the impressive façade of the 14th century edifice, before a man, dressed in workman-like apparel, appeared and began to walk alongside the Commander.
"The ravens have abandoned us," the man said, in a strongly accented French that would have challenged the Scot in other circumstances. "The Roma call it a bad omen."
"One has returned. Where there is one, there will be more." The formalities completed, Dalgliesh turned and grasped the man in a hand-to-elbow shake with accompanied back-slap that spoke of men that knew each other well and respected each other.
Side-by-side, the two strolled onwards, Casino followed a pace behind. He glanced behind him to check the others were still following. Goniff gave a surreptitious thumbs-up.
The men were led to a partly demolished apartment, to the north east of the Cathedral. It had been heavily damaged by the bombings of the previous September, but people were clearly still living there, reluctant to leave the city.
The Resistance man looked relieved once his charges were all concealed safely inside the building. It had been a stressful hour. Life was getting tougher here, so close to the Atlantic seaboard.
They settled into the room, sinking onto elderly sofas and broken chairs, waiting quietly for what was to come next.
The Resistance man finally introduced himself. "I am known here as Marin. I know Corbeau knows me as something else," he looked at the British agent, "but I would prefer to maintain the subterfuge. Likewise, I do not wish to know your names or your aliases."
Actor nodded.
"Soon, you will be escorted to the coast. For now, all I can offer is our hospitality." Marin nodded cordially at Dalgliesh. "Au revoir, Corbeau, I hope we meet again in friendlier times."
Dalgliesh acknowledged his friend's departure with the briefest of nods.
GGG
The escort arrived an hour or so later. Another small, nondescript local that could pass unnoticed under the noses of the Bosch. He brought with him a couple of 'pains' that he threw randomly onto the lap of the man nearest to him, who happened to be Actor. "You have ten minutes."
The Italian looked deprecatingly at the baguettes, but chose not to comment, instead tossing them in Goniff's direction.
They were caught adroitly, but for once the cockney failed to pass comment. This would probably be their last meal for quite some time. Carefully the cockney broke the sticks into equal portions and passed them around.
Dalgliesh looked at his men and smiled. "Let's go."
GGG
A small local train took the five, and their escort, almost all the way to the coast, but finally they had to dismount and start walking. The light was gone before they stumbled across a small wooden shack, from which the sound of Atlantic waves could clearly be heard.
The escort stayed only briefly, just stopping long enough to show the men where they could find torches and drinking water. Awaiting him at home he had a wife and young daughter. It was more important he was there for them, come morning, than to support a cause for men he didn't know.
Space was tight in the hut, but there was the consolation that filled to the rafters with warm bodies, it wasn't cold.
Odd how priorities change, thought Dalgliesh, as he tried to find a way to make himself comfortable against the hard wooden walls of the shack. Outbound, he would have heard nothing but complaints about substandard accommodation. Now, with the ocean so close, attitudes had changed.
Hidden amongst pine trees, sand dunes under foot, they waited as, slowly, time ticked by. Occasionally, one or another would venture out as their need necessitated, but such visits were kept as brief as nature allowed.
At midnight, they began to make preparations for departure. Non-essential items were buried, weapons loaded, the remaining water consumed. There would be no going back.
A small clinker-built dinghy had been 'borrowed' from the harbour and left high and dry on the sandy beach to the north of the town. It boasted a small engine and two oars and, providing the weather was kind, was capable of carrying five large men to the submarine rendezvous point.
The weather was kind. Although cool, there was minimal wind, and the sea state was 'slight'. The only downside was that clear skies, coinciding with an almost full moon, meant the beach was bathed in a golden light that was almost as clear as daylight.
Carefully, the five made their way across the sand to where the dinghy waited. The only sound was the gentle lap of water as small wavelets broke on the beach.
Together, the men picked up the heavy boat and started to drag it towards the sea. The water only deepened slowly, forcing the men to wade some way before the dinghy was floating freely.
"Get on board." Dalgliesh stood at the transom, holding the boat steady with its bow pointing seaward.
Casino stood nearer the bow, in water that was mid-thigh deep, one hand resting on the wood, the other holding his machine gun clear of the salt water. He looked back at the beach but saw nothing, although the hairs on the back of his neck were prickling. Just nerves, he told himself. He was getting as bad as Geronimo.
Goniff scrambled nimbly aboard, then held out a hand to help Actor. Chief was next, pulling himself carefully over the gunwale. Like Casino, he was on edge. Whether it was the bright moonlight or some gut instinct, he didn't know, but adrenaline was pulsing through his veins.
Suddenly, the night was shattered by the staccato rattle of gunfire. Flashes of light emanating from gun barrels lit the night sky. Where the bullets hit the water, they gave off a brief phosphorescent glow. Most were short and wide, but it didn't take long for the men onshore to get their range.
Digging his feet into the hard sand underfoot, Dalgliesh pushed with all his might against the boat, propelling it seawards. "Move," he yelled urgently, before turning towards the beach and lifting his Sten gun to chest height and aiming vaguely landward.
Before he could press the trigger, two bullets struck. The first hit him in the chest, the second, deflected by the water, in the left hip. He fell backwards, striking his head on the transom.
Casino had had one leg in the boat and one in the water when the Scot pushed the boat out to sea. He momentarily lost his balance, tumbling backwards. He emerged spluttering and cursing, brushing wet hair from his face and snorting salt water from his nostrils.
Another flurry of bullets pinged into the general vicinity, most striking the water harmlessly. One chipped splinters from the hull. Another passed so close to the New Yorker's head that he could feel the wind of its passing. He didn't notice. All he saw was the Commander lying comatose in the sea. Grabbing the gunwale, Casino thrust his body through the water, reaching the downed man within seconds. He managed to lift Dalgliesh's head clear of the waves, but he was a dead weight, with sea-soaked clothes.
Chief reacted almost as quickly as Casino. Taking a long stride down the boat, he put one foot solidly onto the transom and long-jumped into the sea to add his muscle to that of the safecracker.
Suddenly, on the beach, from somewhere near to where the muzzle flashes had been coming, there was a massive explosion. The gunfire stopped instantly.
The Indian glanced briefly landward then returned his attention to towing the Scot back to the wallowing dinghy. With Actor and Goniff pulling and Chief and Casino pushing they were able to haul the waterlogged and unconscious man aboard, where he slithered onto the slatted floor boards and lay still.
With Dalgliesh aboard, Chief quickly followed suit, before offering Casino a hand to do the same.
"Goniff, Chief, I think it is time we were moving." Leaving it up to the two men to work out how to start the outboard motor, Actor turned his attention to his CO. The conman reached into his pocket and extracted a small torch, scanning the prone form lying on the wet duckboards. In the faint light, he could see blood pulsing from the man's groin and chest. He probed carefully, but there was little he could do apart from apply pressure to the wounds and pray that the man was still alive when the submarine picked them up.
If the submarine picks us up, said his inner voice.
"Hey, where're we going?" Chief had managed to pull-start the outboard, then installed Goniff on the helm. The cockney was now pointing the bow of the boat resolutely out to sea.
"See that star up there?" Actor pointed at the heavens in a north-westerly direction, "that's where we're heading."
Goniff tried to follow Actor's arm and work out which particular star, of the thousand twinkling up there, the Italian wanted him to follow. In reality, it didn't matter that much, he decided. He selected one particularly blue and twinkly specimen and focused on it like his life depended on it – which it probably did.
An hour later and Dalgliesh was still alive. He had briefly regained consciousness to some extent despite the loss of blood and blow to the head, but that had lapsed.
They had to be close to the rendezvous point, Actor decided. The Scot had kept the details close to his chest, but instinct said they were now in deep enough water for the submarine to operate safely.
"Kill the engine."
Goniff did as he was told, then sat and tried to ignore the uncomfortable motion as the boat stopped moving and began to wallow in the slight swell. Whilst he'd been steering, he hadn't noticed the rocking. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long. A black shape broached the surface of the water about 100 yards away and a flashlight picked out the dinghy in bright detail. The cockney hid his eyes behind his arm and tried to squint at the vessel.
Chief reached for the oars and slipped them into the rowlocks. With Casino at his side, the two men headed for the relative safety of the submarine.
Two crew members with boathooks captured the dinghy and pulled it alongside the hull, then a third man appeared behind them, peering at its occupants. "Commander Dalgliesh?"
Actor stood to his full height, balancing himself with one hand on Chief's shoulder. "Is hors de combat. He will need all the medical assistance you can provide if he is to survive."
Ten minutes later and the five were onboard. The wooden dinghy was cast adrift to survive, or not, as the fates dictated. Meanwhile, the submarine headed for England with all haste.