Apologies for the long delay in updating. My family have been in need of some time and attention but I also have to confess that I have been writing this story a little out of sequence. The bad news is that this delayed the writing of Chapter Thirteen. The good news, however, is that I should be able to update the remainder of this story fairly quickly. I say 'remainder' as it is drawing to its conclusion although there is just a little more to go.

So, after Emile had recovered from the infection in his wound and George had a frightening encounter with a German soldier, the pair set out again, heading for Spain…

Chapter Thirteen

A gust of wind swirled the crops in waves around George and Emile as they lay flat on the ground in the middle of the field, their faces pressed into the earth, hoping that the German patrol they had spotted approaching would take the obvious course and move around the edge of the field. This had been George's idea. She had remembered an instructor at the Finishing School, who had recently returned from France, telling her how he had hidden this way on the assumption that people seldom cross a field of crops without a good reason. It was late August and the crops were ready for harvesting. In a few days they might not have been here to provide shelter.

George glanced at Emile. He was concentrating hard, listening out for the sounds of any soldiers approaching but she could hear nothing but the rustle of the breeze through the leaves. They could have stayed where they were in the trees near the edge of the field and tried to brazen it out if they had been seen when the soldiers appeared but they were close to the frontier area and patrols were frequent as the Spanish border lay only fifteen kilometres away across the mountains that rose up in the distance, a daunting physical barrier to freedom.

George and Emile had been waiting for their guide when they had seen the patrol and had no option but to hide if they wanted to avoid almost certain arrest. There were frequent attempts to cross the border by evaders who ranged from desperate refugees to shot down allied aircrew and the Germans had become efficient at halting the escapes of many. However, there were still the few lucky ones who not only managed to cross the border but survive the harsh trek through the mountains. George and Emile intended to be in that number.

It had taken them the best part of a week to reach Bayonne, trying to avoid the main railway lines and busy towns along the way but even then they had found themselves subject to delays and long waits at obscure railway stations on small branch lines. Emile was growing stronger and they had finally been able to drop the pretence of being on the way to Armancourt for the benefit of his mental health. They had reverted to the approach advised by their training instructors and now sat well apart on trains and took care not to be seen arriving or leaving stations or other public places together.

On one occasion, however, they had risked staying a night at a hotel in a small town when they had been stranded at a station with no hope of getting away before curfew fell. The weather had turned in and there was no obvious place to find shelter. Emile had told the hotel owner, a well-upholstered middle-aged woman with pursed lips who clearly considered herself a leading light in the local community and upholder of moral standards, that they were cousins on the way to a family funeral and that they would have to share a room as they were short of money with the unexpected expense of being stranded here overnight. She had tutted and looked disapproving but had finally relented and given them a room. It had been a half-truth as their funds were not exactly short but Emile knew they would need money to pay a Spanish guide and they had to keep sufficient back. They were both exhausted but had nevertheless taken turns to keep watch ever fearful of betrayal. They had left the hotel as soon as it was light not wishing to risk staying any longer than necessary for fear that the police or Germans might call by to make a check on registered guests. The hotel owner was obliged to check the papers of all guests on arrival and record their details but Emile and George had departed long before the local German Feldpolizei arrived to look through the register later that morning.

When George had first proposed that she and Emile head for Spain she had formed only the faintest outline of how they would reach the border and cross it but it was Emile who had filled in the details.

"I ran into a chap when I was training for France, Paul Masters. He was RAF like me but he'd been shot down over Belgium and made it back through an escape line. He told me about the route they took and said a guide had been paid to take them into Spain. He was a bit cagey about it but he said they'd gone as far as a village called Beautroux a few miles from the border and there was a chap who was a garage mechanic there and he'd made the arrangements. It's not much to go on but we'll have to give it a try."

He was right, George reflected, it was risky as hell following a lead from many months ago. Who knew what might have happened in the intervening period but she also knew that attempting to cross the border through the mountains without the local knowledge and experience of a guide was akin to suicide.

They had reached Bayonne two days ago but not stayed there. Instead they had taken a bus in the direction of Beautroux but alighted a stop early without much idea of how far they would have to walk but determined to approach the village with caution and check the place out before committing themselves to their course of action. It had taken them half an hour to reach Beautroux and when they arrived they could see it was a typical small French village. It was approaching noon and they knew that what little life there was in a place so small and sleepy would soon evaporate when the town clock struck the hour. The last thing they needed was to be seen wandering around the deserted lunchtime streets.

"I'll go into the centre and make the enquiries," Emile asserted. George opened her mouth to protest but he silenced her, "Don't try to argue, George, it's non-negotiable."

She silently acquiesced, knowing he was conscious of how much he had relied upon her for the first few weeks and how much he wanted to share the burden of risk but she felt that she was better equipped in these circumstances. The many weeks of working as a courier had necessitated her walking into many unknown situations and having to use her judgment but she could see that Emile was determined and she knew it was his decision.

"Alright, I'll wait in the church."

She looked worried and Emile understood why but he leaned in and kissed her, "Trust me, George."

He turned and walked away and she watched him for a short while, trying to keep control of the anxiety that arose whenever they parted, before she turned back towards the church.

She waited in nervous hope and anticipation of his return. There had been many occasions when she had put herself in potential danger but she had weighed up the risks, taken the necessary precautions and relied on her instincts. A few times she had walked away from situations, unhappy with the feel of something but she had never been blamed. It had always been her prerogative whether to proceed with a rendezvous. She was worried about Emile but knew he was trying to protect her. She wasn't religious but for the first time in a long while she bowed her head and offered up a silent prayer for his return.

When she heard the church door open almost an hour later she resisted the urge to turn her head. She kept it bowed in a semblance of prayer until she heard someone move into the pew behind her and then the relief of Emile's voice.

"I hope you're praying for us."

George sat upright and turned her head a fraction, "Do I need to?"

"Wouldn't do any harm."

George checked around her and satisfied that there was no one else in the building she turned around completely to face him.

"Did you make contact?"

Emile nodded, "He was very wary but I think he accepted I was genuine, especially when I mentioned Paul Masters and showed him I could pay. We've to meet someone just before sunset tomorrow at a roadside shrine outside the village of Lugny. It's about four kilometres from here. The guide will stop to pray at the shrine."

"We should get there early," George said, "Just in case…"

There was no need to finish the sentence they both knew that they were at risk of arrest from deliberate betrayal or from accidental discovery but the wisest course of action would be to get to the rendezvous long before the appointed time and keep it under observation. If there was any hint that something was wrong they could leave without giving themselves away.

"Come on, let's get out of here and find somewhere to lie low," Emile said. "I think we should rest. Even if we manage to avoid the Germans, this is going to be tough, George, make no mistake about that."

They had left the village immediately ensuring they were not followed and found a remote shack off the beaten track, which was little more than a disused, tumbledown hut that had clearly been abandoned a long time ago but was well hidden. There was little comfort to be found within but they settled down and shared out what was left of the provisions they had with them. It wasn't much to sustain them on a long arduous journey but food was the very least of their worries at the moment.

Emile closed his eyes and tried to sleep but his mind was turning over the conversation with the garage mechanic, Marcel. Once he had located the garage and observed the mechanic at work for a while he had summoned up the courage to approach him. It had been an awkward encounter. The man had just as much reason to be wary of Emile, who could easily have been a German agent, as Emile had to fear betrayal. If Emile was honest, he was amazed that the man was still at work there having feared that this escape route would have been put out of business long ago.

They had hedged around the issue for a while as Emile had tested the waters with some vague enquiries about needing a repair to his wife's bicycle and informing Marcel that he had been recommended by an acquaintance for whom he had done some work last year.

"He was just passing through on his way south and you were so good as to sort out a problem for him."

Marcel had looked at him in all innocence, "I'm glad I was of service."

"Yes, " Emile continued, "And you were particularly helpful when he needed some directions for his journey. I understand you know someone who's very familiar with this area."

From the slight frown this remark produced Emile thought that Marcel understood the drift of the conversation now but he was still being very wary.

"Who was the friend who recommended me, Monsieur?"

Emile paused, wondering how much he should reveal to a stranger. This was highly risky but he had to hope for the best because he had no other options.

"Paul."

Marcel shrugged, "Paul who? How would I know him?"

"He's from the north. Quite a long way north of here."

Emile was now sure from the expression on Marcel's face that he understood the reference but he was conflicted as to whether to trust him. Emile knew he would have to convince him somehow and it would involve a leap of faith on both sides.

"I think we understand each other, Marcel, and I think you remember my friend. I have money and I'm willing to give you a share right now. I'll leave more for you to collect wherever you want." He reached into his jacket, removed a wad of notes and offered it to the man, "But I need some assistance for me and my wife and I think you can arrange that."

Marcel had stretched out his hand, taken the notes from Emile and counted them before he nodded and said, "Very well, but there's something you should know."

Emile had given George the outline of the conversation thus far but he hadn't told George the part that had followed.

"The Germans have been around asking questions about a man and a woman who might be in this area. They called them terrorists," Marcel said slowly as he wiped the grease from his fingers.

Emile knew he was testing the waters but he had shrugged, "That's what they always say. Other people might call them patriots."

"Well they seemed very interested in these two in particular. There was an officer with them, not one from around here."

The news was unsettling but it still didn't mean anything in particular to Emile. The Germans were always asking questions. The man pointed to the wall of the building next door, "They've got a photograph of the woman."

Emile had turned his head to look in the direction indicated and was shocked to the core to see George's face staring back at him from the poster pasted to the wall. It was the photograph taken from her old identity papers. For a moment he was totally at a loss to understand how this could have happened. They were a long way from Varennes but clearly someone had traced them here or anticipated their movements. It was the worst news, however, he tried to hide his dismay as he turned back to the man and sought to avoid the issue.

"My wife and I have business to attend to and she has family south of here. Will you be able to help?"

Marcel had given him a long searching look and Emile had tried hard to quell the anxious feelings that were rising. He didn't know whether the man believed him on any front but he thanked god at least, that George hadn't come with him. The game would definitely have been over if she had walked through the door and he might well have refused to assist.

Marcel threw down the cloth, "I know someone but it'll cost more than when your friend crossed last year."

Emile nodded. He had no intention of haggling. They were in far too precarious a position to argue about the price. They agreed terms and the man gave him the rendezvous details. Emile had left as soon as possible and joined George at the church. By the time he had sat down next to her at the pew he had decided to keep the information that they were being pursued to himself. There was nothing to be gained from making George any more anxious than she already was. They were both well aware of the risks and knowing the whole story wouldn't change the odds.

They had waited out the rest of the day and the night that followed taking turns to keep watch while the other slept, restricting conversation to a minimum as both felt the tension of the situation but preferred to keep to their own thoughts. The following afternoon, knowing that they needed to arrive in good time for their rendezvous and wanting to take time to reconnoitre the area, they finally ventured out into the open and began to make their way cross-country to the designated location.

Having found the roadside shrine they had settled down in some trees a little way distant to keep watch and had been there about an hour before they had seen grey uniforms in the distance heading their way. Not knowing if they were there by coincidence or design and unsure where to find cover, Emile and George had taken the unusual step of heading into a field of waist-high crops before throwing themselves to the ground in the centre and praying that it was just a routine patrol that would pass by.

They had lain in the field for at least half an hour before George whispered to Emile, "Do you think they've gone?"

He grimaced, "Only one way to find out."

With difficulty he struggled to his knees and then into a crouched position.

"I'll make my way to the edge of the field and take a look around. If everything seems alright, I'll give a single whistle. Understood?"

George nodded. Emile took a deep breath and then slowly started to make his way back out of the crops, keeping low to the ground and trying to produce as little movement as possible. George continued to lie flat, straining her ears for any tell-tale signs that they had unwelcome company but there was nothing but the sound of the wind in the trees and the twittering of the birds.

X-X-X-X

Weber raised his hand to shield the sun from his eyes. The Pyrénées rose majestically in the distance, all but the summits clearly visible in the bright sunshine. He liked the mountains and had spent many winters as a young man skiing in the Alps. The war, however, had brought a stop to such pastimes and he missed them. He missed much of the way life had been before the war even though the war had given him a job and a purpose that had been lacking in those days when he had been a wealthy young man moving in the higher social circles in Germany. He'd made powerful friends of wealth and influence; he was intelligent, educated and urbane. He wasn't a fighting man but he'd always known he had skills to offer and it hadn't been difficult to find a role that allowed him to pursue his interests. At this moment there was only one pursuit in his mind.

He had been following the trail of the woman known as both Louise Aubert and Yvette Laurent for several weeks now. From the moment he had recognised the photograph of Louise Aubert and realised he had been duped the first time they had met on the train to Courcelles he had been determined to track her down. It had become a matter of personal pride not that he would admit to anyone that he had allowed the attractiveness of a young woman to blind him that day. When she had been rescued by a daring ambush on the way from the prison in Varennes to Abwehr headquarters it had only served to convince him that she had an important role in the local resistance network.

The arrest of Bernard following a tip-off had given Weber an opportunity to probe the structure of the network even if it had taken time to win the confidence of the man. He frowned; confidence was too strong a word. Bernard certainly hadn't trusted him, he had barely spoken a word to Weber but the Abwehr officer had planted the seeds of doubt in the Frenchman's mind with the unspoken suggestion that the woman, he was sure was known to Bernard, was an informer. On the day of Bernard's arrest, Weber had left him to stew on this information until late that evening after he had enjoyed a dinner with Mademoiselle Henry. She hadn't been happy that he intended to abandon her for the rest of the evening but it was of little matter to him as he had begun to tire of her and found the challenge of Bernard a far more interesting proposition on this occasion.

Bernard had maintained his silence during the questioning that evening but Weber had decided to press home his line of enquiry.

"Do you know, Bernard, whilst I was having dinner this evening with a very charming young lady, I'm afraid I was most ungallant."

Bernard showed no interest, so Weber continued, "I didn't attend to her conversation because I found that I was thinking about something else." He sat up in his chair, "I was thinking about you. In fact I was thinking how much we have in common. Call it a shared interest."

Bernard looked at him but his expression betrayed nothing.

"You see," Weber continued, "I think you recognised a photograph you saw in here earlier, the photograph of the young woman that you picked up from the floor."

Bernard continued to maintain a neutral expression but Weber could tell he was waiting to hear what came next.

"She's deceived us both and run away before she had to face the consequences of her duplicitous actions. Right now I imagine we'd both like to catch up with her."

Bernard took a deep breath, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Weber learned forward, "Don't you? You mean you've never been suspicious about why the drop zone was overrun a few weeks ago, why the raid at the factory went wrong or why you were arrested?"

Bernard stayed silent but Weber continued, "She's been on our payroll for months."

For the first time Bernard raised his eyes to look Weber squarely in the face. There was a smile on his lips and Weber was curious, "You find that amusing?"

Bernard shook his head, "No, I just know now that you're lying."

Perhaps it hadn't been the response he had hoped for but Weber now recalled that it was the moment that confirmed his suspicions. Bernard had refused to say anything further and denied all knowledge of anything but he had unconsciously told Weber two pieces of information: the woman was definitely part of the Maverick circuit and she hadn't been with them long, in fact, he was willing to bet she wasn't even French which might account for her recent arrival.

The fact that Weber had allowed an SOE agent to slip through his fingers, and he was now sure that she must be one, only spurred him on to track her down. It had been reported that a woman had been seen at the factory raid helping an injured man to get away. His men had carried out extensive enquiries and discovered that Bernard's van had been seen in the small hamlet of Neuville and once they had moved in on the area it hadn't taken long to discover that a couple, the Moreaus, had left very suddenly on the excuse of visiting an ill relative in Paris on the very day of Bernard's arrest. They had searched the house and found some evidence that someone who had been staying there had met with an accident. There had been bloodstained bandages hidden beneath other refuse in a small incinerator at the rear of the property; clearly there hadn't been time to light it before leaving. He was willing to bet that the injured man had been taken there.

Eventually, their enquiries had unearthed that a woman matching Louise Aubert's description had been seen with a man at a small station, ten kilometres away. The ticket seller remembered she had been looking after a man he described as a 'simpleton'. They made more enquiries at every station down the line and a German officer at Grimont remembered an incident that had taken place at a checkpoint when a man from a mental institute travelling in the care of his cousin, had thrown a fit. Weber's men had shown him the photograph of Louise Aubert and he had confirmed it was the same woman.

It had been more difficult to find any trace of them after the checkpoint incident but Weber was sure they must be heading south with a purpose in mind. The circuit was broken, the man with the Aubert woman was injured and if the she was sticking closely to him there must be a good reason. He concluded that they were possibly both SOE agents and would be intent on making their escape. The swiftest route to freedom was via Spain but it was far from easy. At times Weber's common sense told him that in all likelihood the birds had flown but the thought that the woman had slipped through his fingers twice rankled with him and he continued to trawl through reports that filtered through to his desk having requested information from beyond his own area. He scanned through arrest details and information supplied by officers and informers in the hope that something relevant would turn up but it seemed as if they must have gone to ground. About two weeks later however, something appeared; a report from the local German Feldpolizei in the Bayonne area with details of a man and a woman registering for one night at a small hotel in Festubert after being stranded at the station overnight. They had arrived late without luggage and much to the hotel owner's surprise left unobserved at the crack of dawn. The description of the woman certainly matched the photograph of Louise Aubert although Weber knew that France was awash with dark-haired young women and it could have been anyone but he prided himself that he had an instinct for these matters. The hotel was only thirty kilometres from Bayonne and curiosity had piqued him. Without wishing to delay any longer, he had informed his adjutant, Baumann, he would be pursuing enquiries in the Bayonne area, instructed his driver to drive south and taken off in that direction within barely an hour of reading the report.

They had reached Festubert by late afternoon the following day and Weber's appearance at the hotel had clearly caused the owner some consternation. He was by now fairly astute at recognising the small signs that French people disliked him even though many, particularly those who held any position in the community, were at pains to try to hide their aversion, preferring to grit their teeth behind fixed smiles or overcompensate with their helpfulness. The hotel owner was in the latter category, all politeness, affected manners and an insistence that she wished to be as helpful as possible. He began by asking her if she remembered the man and woman who had arrived three days ago without luggage, quite late in the evening.

"Yes, certainly. They said they were on their way to a family funeral and had been held up because of the…er….delays."

She had checked herself before blaming the occupying powers and he pretended he hadn't noticed.

"Did they say anything else about themselves, where they had come from perhaps?"

The woman appeared to be thinking hard to recall the conversation but shook her head, "Very little, I'm sorry."

"It's of small matter," Weber said with a smile, trying to put the woman at ease, "Did they both seem well?"

He saw her frown in puzzlement, "In what way do you mean well, Monsieur?"

"Perhaps 'fit' would be a better term, Madame."

She considered this for a moment or two, "The woman seemed well but I do recall that the man didn't sign the register. I was surprised when he asked the woman to do it. It's not really the done thing, you understand."

Weber nodded, implying he understood her point but in truth he was more interested by the reason why he hadn't been able or willing to do so.

He reached into his tunic pocket and took out the photograph of the young woman he had shown Bernard and held it out to the middle-aged lady, "Tell me, Madame, is this the woman who came to the hotel with the man?"

She took the photograph from him and stared at the picture for a full ten seconds before answering, "Yes, I think it is although she looked a little different. Her hair was darker and tied back from her face but it looks like her."

"And the man? How would you describe him?"

"Tall, although he was bent over a little for some reason, perhaps in his mid to late twenties, dark-haired…" she shrugged and shook her head slightly indicating she could think of no other distinguishing features.

"Could you show me the register?"

She moved behind the desk and reached for the large leather bound book in which all the guests were required to register on arrival before showing their papers. She turned a page and then pointed to the entry on the left hand page. Weber leaned forward and scrutinised the writing. It was small, neat hand, the style was French and it gave no hidden clues about its owner. He straightened up, "Thank you, Madame, you've been most helpful."

She smiled and inclined her head slightly, "I'm always pleased to be of assistance. I'm sure you'd hear as much from anyone in the town."

Weber turned away having had his fill of obsequious attention for one day. The meeting had confirmed his belief that the woman and her companion had been here but it had also told him the names they were using; Marie Bouchard and Claude Benoit.

In Bayonne he had dropped in to see his Abwehr counterpart in the region, a Major by the name of Schuster whom he had met once at a formal dinner in Frankfurt. He explained that he was following a lead on two resistance members he suspected of being in the area.

"Tell me, Schuster, where's the best place to catch evaders on the border?"

His colleague considered this for a few moments before responding, "In my experience there are two areas that see most activity but one, between Beautroux and Lugny, has been quiet for a long time as we've effectively shut down operations there. We caught quite a few British evaders there last year but the increased patrols seem to have deterred attempts. We're finding far more a little further south east at Masioncelle now. You're welcome to go down there and take a look at our operation in action if you like." He leaned forward clearly eager to impress his colleague with the efficiency of their activities.

"Thank you but I think I'd like to take a look around the first area. I think they'd head to the place we'd least expect to find them."

Schuster looked as if he disagreed with his colleague. It annoyed him that Weber would doubt his assertion that they had effectively brought escape attempts to an end but he recalled now that when they had met two years ago Weber had displayed supreme confidence bordering on arrogance in his own abilities, far more confidence than they probably merited. It would be amusing, Schuster considered, to see him brought down a peg or two.

"As you wish, Weber. This might be interesting. In fact, how do you fancy a little wager on your chances of success? I'll even lend you four of my men for a few days, just to stack the odds a little more in your favour."

Weber nodded, "That's very good of you Schuster. I'll take you up on that offer and the bet."

Schuster reached out to shake him by the hand, "A bottle of cognac to the winner?"

Weber had no objections. "A bottle of cognac it is."

Now here they were in the foothills of the Pyrénées, south of Beautroux: Weber, his driver and the four men that Schuster had spared him. Furnished with all the locations in which evaders had previously been caught, he had spent the previous evening examining maps of the area and had narrowed his search and patrol area down to a triangle of locations feeling sure that if his targets were to cross anywhere it would be here. He gazed around him. It was a fine day and ideal for embarking on a long trek into the mountains. This was the second day he had spent co-ordinating the men on their search but he had an overwhelming feeling that luck was with him and it wouldn't be long before the tables turned in his favour.