Jackdaws by Ken Follett Page A

there any love affairs? Were any of them
homosexual? Was anyone sleeping with someone else's wife?
    Although the torture had stopped,
Bertrand continued to groan and sometimes scream with the agony of his wounds,
and now Gaston said, "Is he going to be looked after?"
    Dieter shrugged.
    "Please, get a doctor for
him."
    "Very well… when we have
finished our talk."
    Gaston told Dieter that Michel and
Gilberte were lovers, even though Michel was married to Flick, the blond girl
in the square.
    So far, Gaston had been talking
about a circuit that was mostly destroyed, so his information had been mainly
of academic interest. Now Dieter moved on to more important questions.
"When Allied agents come to this district, how do they make contact?"
    No one was supposed to know how that
was handled, Gaston said. There was a cut-out. However, he knew part of the
story. The agents were met by a woman code-named Bourgeoise. Gaston did not
know where she met them, but she took them to her home; then she passed them on
to Michel.
    No one had ever met Bourgeoise, not
even Michel.
    Dieter was disappointed that Gaston
knew so little about the woman. But that was the idea of a cut-out.
    "Do you know where she
lives?"
    Gaston nodded. "One of the
agents gave it away. She has a house in the rue du Bois. Number eleven."
    Dieter tried not to look jubilant.
This was a key fact. The enemy would probably send more agents in an attempt to
rebuild the Bollinger circuit. Dieter might be able to catch them at the safe
house.
    "And when they leave?"
    They were picked up by plane in a
field codenamed Champ de Pierre, actually a pasture near the village of
Chatelle, Gaston revealed. There was an alternative landing field, codenamed
Champ d'Or, but he did not know where it was.
    Dieter asked Gaston about liaison
with London. Who had ordered the attack on the telephone exchange? Gaston
explained that Flick—Major Clairet—was the circuit's commanding officer, and
she had brought orders from London. Dieter was intrigued. A woman in command.
But he had seen her courage under fire. She would make a good leader.
    In the next room, Bertrand began to
pray aloud for death to come. "Please," Gaston said. "A
doctor."
    "Just tell me about Major
Clairet." Dieter said. "Then I'll get someone to give Bertrand an
injection."
    "She is a very important
person," Gaston said, eager now to give Dieter information that would
satisfy him. "They say she has survived longer than anyone else
undercover. She has been all over northern France."
    Dieter was spellbound. "She has
contact with different circuits?"
    "So I believe."
    That was unusual—and it meant she
could be a fountain of information about the French Resistance. Dieter said,
"She got away yesterday after the skirmish. Where do you think she
went?"
    "Back to London, I'm
sure," Gaston said. "To report on the raid."
    Dieter cursed silently. He wanted
her in France, where he could catch her and interrogate her. If he got his
hands on her, he could destroy half the French Resistance—as he had promised
Rommel. But she was out of reach.
    He stood up. "That's all for
now," he said. "Hans, get a doctor for the prisoners. I don't want
any of them to die today—they may have more to tell us. Then type up your notes
and bring them to me in the morning."
    "Very good, Major."
    "Make a copy for Major
Weber—but don't give it to him until I say so."
    "Understood."
    "I'll drive myself back to the
hotel." Dieter went out.
    The headache began as he stepped
into the open air. Rubbing his forehead with his hand, he made his way to the
car and drove out of the village, heading for Reims. The afternoon sun seemed
to reflect off the road surface straight into his eyes. These migraines often
struck him after an interrogation. In an hour he would be blind and helpless.
He had to get back to the hotel before the attack reached its peak. Reluctant
to brake, he sounded his horn constantly. Vineyard workers making their slow
way home scattered out