Clandestine by J. Robert Janes Page B

twenties?’
    â€˜We have to be missing something, Hermann, including the name of that last one I just met. I’ve heard and seen him before, but where?’
    â€˜It’ll come to you. It always does.’
    â€˜The pseudo-robbery of a bank van whose driver and assistant willingly gave a lift to a complete stranger, no matter how vulnerable and tempting?’
    â€˜Did she know of them, Louis? Did they of her?’
    The question of questions, for if so, it implied a whole lot more. ‘And when both vehicles turned off the RD 380 to avoid that control, did she look back to gratefully see the distance between them steadily increase and think she had got safely away?’
    Only to then discover something else. ‘Monnier won’t open until 0900 hours.’
    * The Royal Dutch Aviation Company used Douglas aircraft, one of which was ‘mistakenly’ shot down by a Luftwaffe fighter over the Bay of Biscay in June 1943.
    * In early August 1944, eight German soldiers were ambushed in Aubervilliers and shot, the first such major incident in what was to become known as the Battle for Paris.
    * A pocket flashlight activated by pumping a thumb lever.
    * The Dutch fascists, the Nationaal Socialistische Beweging.

3
    French banks were nothing but trouble, felt Kohler. They opened when they wanted and closed soon afterward, this one at 1100 hours, with the customary two-hour lunch from 1230 to 1430. But they all even took the half-day holiday on Wednesday afternoons.
    It was still dark. Fortunately a carriage entrance lay off the rue Volney, and having squeezed through it into the courtyard, van and Citroën were locked and left as they headed for the little blue wire-caged light above the tradesman’s entrance.
    â€˜Me or you, Louis?’
    â€˜Both.’
    All too soon a throaty voice rebelled. ‘Merde alors, messieurs, even the roosters on the roof haven’t had time to crow! It’s also a Saturday and since when did banks ever open on such days?’
    â€˜As of right now. Gestapo and Sûreté, my fine one. Just let us in,’ shouted Hermann. ‘We’ve brought your president a little present.’
    Something would have to be said to stall them until contact could be made, felt Olivier Gaudin, concierge and of some importance to the Crédit et Commercial. ‘Monsieur le Président Bolduc, he is away at the autumn pot-shoot with Hauptmann Reinecke and Leutnant Heiss, the overseers of the bank. La Côte Sud des Landes. Les palombes, n’est-ce pas, et les ortolans.’
    â€˜The coastal dunes back of the beaches to the south of Bordeaux, Louis. Wood pigeons and songbirds.’
    The autumn migration and within the forbidden zone that bordered the Atlantic Ocean. ‘Ortolans are caught in nets, Hermann. Monsieur le Concierge, we’ll wait in his office for his second-­in-command.’
    â€˜See that coffee is sent up,’ said Kohler. ‘Hot croissants, fried Reim’s ham, omelettes, too, and wedges of Brie de Meaux for starters. Just the usual that president of yours must serve up to those bank overseers you mentioned.’
    Merde! ‘And where, please, am I to find such things, let alone pay for them?’
    A tough one. ‘Here’s a 5,000 franc note that’s not from the van. Use it and bring me the change and a receipt. Don’t and you’ll have to deal with me since like yourself, I’m not an early riser. Add four shots of cognac to the coffee. We’ll wait in your president’s office as the chief inspector here has suggested.’
    â€˜Not without his key. The boardroom will have to do.’
    Under flashlight, the ghost of another and far better time appeared, felt St-Cyr, for the staircase to which they were led had been done by Hector Guimard of métro -entrance fame. Serpentine in seductively curved wrought iron, its banister led the way up as if to the gods. Equally of art nouveau and the