The Paris Collaborator by A.W. Hammond

Author:A.W. Hammond [Hammond, A.W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

Duchene descended to the walkway that ran along the Seine. A chill radiated from the cold, black waters. This was what he’d imagined the Styx to be, almost – it would be glassy and smooth, but all else would be the same. Even now, he could see the motorboat approaching him. Not the ferryman, but something close: three men, any of whom could be leading him to his death, although he sensed the only one he recognised, Armand, would be performing that role if it came to it.

The motorboat slid up to the jetty.

Duchene glanced over his shoulder. Along either side of the causeway. If the Gestapo were still following him, they would have to make themselves known to see this.

‘Get in,’ Armand said.

‘Where’s Philippe?’

Armand held a rusted iron ring that was embedded into the stonework. He kept the boat in position, his arms like a mooring rope, muscles straining under his grey jacket. ‘Get. In.’ He glowered at Duchene from beneath his oversized fedora.

Duchene stepped into the boat and grabbed one of its sides, steadying himself as he sat among crab pots. The pilot at the tiller revved the boat into motion, and they started across the river, cutting through the currents that moved over its surface. The spray that hit his face was briny, but it became less frequent as they motored down the opposite side of the river. They followed the Left Bank, passing large, flat barges. The motorboat slid under bridges he’d often crossed but never seen from below: the Pont de la Concorde with its dark bricks of Bastille rubble clearly visible, then the Pont Royal with arches that rose in a gentle curve from the water. Soon they were cutting past the Île de la Cité, cluttered with its palaces, law courts and cathedral.

They slowed as they reached the next bridge and coasted up to another jetty. Philippe was waiting, and he jumped cleanly onto the boat. He used a leather satchel in his right hand as a counterweight to keep his balance.

‘Where to?’ the pilot asked from the stern.

‘Follow the gardens, then take us along the Right Bank again. We’ll find them eventually.’

Armand stepped back from his position at the bow and joined Philippe on the bench opposite Duchene. He hunched forward, picking at his tooth with a folded matchbook.

The motor spurred into action, and they continued downriver, sitting in silence while the pilot scanned the currents. By the time he adjusted their course, they were some distance from the centre of the city.

Philippe looked up at the pilot. ‘Run past it, at a distance, then loop back. Make sure you see Casin before getting too close.’

The pilot nodded and took them wide, past a long canal barge. It lay high in the water, its deck free of cargo. Armand moved his attention away from Duchene and stood up, scanning the canal boat for signs of movement. ‘I don’t recognise the man at the helm,’ he said.

‘Casin or we don’t go in,’ replied Philippe.

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