Chapter 40 Chapter Thirty-Nine

In the early hours of Sunday morning, Paul Chancellor landed in a potato field in the village of La Roque, west of Reims, without the assistance of a recovery team and, of course, without the risk of the corresponding risks. The shock of landing made his injured knee ache.He gritted his teeth and lay motionless on the ground, waiting for the pain to pass.For the rest of his life, this knee will probably hurt every now and then.When he's old, he'll use his knee pain to predict rain—if he lives to be old. After five minutes he felt he could struggle to his feet and removed his parachute harness.He found a way, looked at the stars to discern the direction, and walked down the road, but his legs were limping and he couldn't go too fast.

Percy Sweet hastily produced a set of identification papers for him, saying he was a schoolteacher in Epernay, a few miles to the west.He was hitchhiking to Lance to visit his father, who was sick.Percy had given him all the necessary papers, some of which had been hastily forged the previous night and delivered to Templesfield by motorcycle courier.His lame fits with the cover's account.A wounded veteran might well have gone on to become a schoolteacher, and a strong young man would have been sent to a German labor camp long ago. Getting here is the relatively easy part.Now he had to find Flick.The only way he had access to her was through the Bollinger Resistance.He hoped that part of the organization hadn't been destroyed, Bryan was the only member to fall into the hands of the Gestapo.Like every agent who parachutes into Reims, he will first get in touch with Miss Remus.It's just that he needs to be extra cautious.

Shortly after dawn he heard the sound of a car.He left the road, went into the field beside the road, and hid himself behind a vine.As the noise got closer, he discovered that the car turned out to be a tractor.It should be safe - the Gestapo never rides a tractor.He returned to the road, beckoning that he wanted a ride. A boy of about fifteen was driving the tractor, pulling a cart of artichokes behind him.The driver nodded at Paul's leg and said, "Is it from the war?" "Yes," Paul said, the most likely occasion for a French soldier to be wounded was in the French campaign, so he added, "At Sedan, 1940."

"I was too young," said the boy regretfully. "You're lucky." "Wait for the Allies to come back. Then you'll see the real war." He glanced at Paul. "I can't tell. You'll see when the time comes." Paul thought about it carefully.Could this kid be a member of Bollinger's organization?He said, "But our people need guns and ammo, do they have them?" If the kid knew anything, he would at least know that the coalition forces have dropped tons of weapons in the past few months. "We use whatever weapons we have in our hands."

Was he being careful to keep things secret, knowing what he didn't say?No, thought Paul.The kid doesn't know anything.He just likes to fantasize.Paul said no more. The boy let him out of the car on the outskirts of the city, and he limped into town.The joint location has changed, from the basement of the cathedral to the cafe in front of the station, but the time has not changed, it is still three o'clock in the afternoon.He had hours to kill. He went into the cafe for breakfast and did some scouting.He ordered a cup of black coffee.The elderly waiter raised an eyebrow, and Paul immediately realized that he had slipped.He hastened to cover up. "Probably don't need to say 'black,' I suppose," he said, "you probably don't have any milk anyway."

The waiter smiled, convinced by him. "Unfortunately, not." Then he walked away. Paul let out a long breath.He hadn't been here in eight months since his last undercover assignment in France, and he'd forgotten the life of pretending to be someone else, tense every minute. He spent the morning dozing off during church services.Then, at half past one, he went back to the café for lunch.The place became vacant around two-thirty, and he stayed there, drinking substitute coffee.Two men walked in at two forty-five and ordered beers.Paul looked it over carefully.They wore old coats and talked about grapes in the usual language.They spoke eruditely of the vines in bloom, the critical season having just passed.He didn't think the two men would be Gestapo agents.

At exactly three o'clock a tall, attractive woman entered, wearing a discreet but very elegant green cotton blouse and a straw hat.On the feet were unpaired shoes: one black, the other brown.She may be "middle class". Paul was a little taken aback.He had expected her to be an old woman.However, his assumption was also unfounded, and Flick never actually described her. In any case, he wasn't ready to believe her right away.He got up and left the cafe. He walked along the sidewalk to the station and stood at the entrance, looking at the café.He didn't attract attention, as usual, there were always a few people hanging around here, waiting for their friends.

He watched the customers coming in and out of the cafe.A woman with a child came over. The child wanted a pastry. When they reached the cafe, the mother compromised and led the child in.The two grape experts left.A gendarme went in and came out again at once with a pack of cigarettes in his hand. Paul came to believe that the Gestapo was not laying a trap here.There is no danger to anyone who can be seen nearby.Changing the location of the joint has shaken off the suspects. Only one thing puzzled him.When Brian Standish was caught in church, he was rescued by Charenton, a friend of the "middle class".Where is he today?If he'd been covering for her at the cathedral, why wasn't he here?But the environment itself isn't dangerous, and there could be a hundred simple explanations for it.

Mother and child leave the cafe.Then, at half past three, the "middle class" came out too.She left the train station along the sidewalk.Paul followed on the other side of the street.She got into a small Italian car, called a Simca in French.Paul crosses the road.She got in the car and started the engine. Now it's up to Paul to make a decision.He wasn't sure it was safe, but he had been watching carefully for so long, and the joint was just a step away.One has to take risks at some point.Otherwise he might as well stay at home and not come out. He walked to the passenger door of the car and opened it.

She looked at him calmly. "This gentleman?" "Pray for me," he said. "I pray for peace." Paul got into the car.Tell her your code name: "I am Dandong." She started the car. "Why didn't you talk to me in the cafe?" she said. "I saw you as soon as I went in, and you kept me waiting for half an hour. It was dangerous." "I want to make sure that's not a trap." She glanced at him. "You've heard what happened to the 'helicopter'." "Yes. Where is your friend who saved him, Charenton?"

She turned the car south, going fast. "He's working today." "Working on Sunday? What does he do?" "Fireman. He's on duty today." That explains it all.Paul quickly turned to the real purpose of his trip, saying, "Where's the 'helicopter'?" She shook her head and said, "I don't know. My house is a 'cut off guard'. When I get someone, I transfer it to 'Monet'. I shouldn't know." "Is 'Monet' all right?" "Yes, he called me Thursday afternoon and asked about Charenton." "There was no contact after that?" "No, but it's nothing out of the ordinary." "When was the last time you saw him?" "Is he himself? I've never seen him." "Have you heard from 'The Leopard'?" "No." The car drove through the outskirts of the city, Paul mused. The "middle class" really couldn't provide him with any information.He can only move to the next link. She pulled the car into a yard next to a large house. "Come in and get a change," she said. He got out of the car.Everything seems to be in order, "middle class" is in the right place, all the signals are correct, and no one is following her.On the other hand, she did not provide him with any useful information, and he still had no idea how deep the enemy's penetration of the Bollinger organization really was, or how dangerous Flick's situation was. The "middle class" led him to the front door, and when she opened it with her key, he found a wooden toothbrush in his coat pocket. It was made in France and he was allowed to carry it with him.An urge seized him now.When the "middle class" stepped across the threshold, he took the toothbrush out of his pocket and threw it on the ground in front of the door. He followed her into the house. "It's a big place," he said.It was dark inside, with old-fashioned wallpaper and heavy furniture out of character for their owners. "Have you lived here long?" "I inherited the house three or four years ago and I wanted to redecorate but couldn't get any materials." She opened a door and stood aside to let him in. "Go to the kitchen." As soon as he walked in, he saw two men in uniform.Both held automatic pistols.Both guns were pointed at Paul.