The Collaborators. Reginald Hill
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‘Today,’ said Günter Mai, ‘is the twenty-first of June, the longest day. Hereafter begins the darkness.’
‘I hope I don’t detect a metaphor,’ said Bruno Zeller sardonically.
‘Why? Can they arrest you for metaphors now?’ He was rather drunk, but it had seemed ungracious not to take full advantage of the major’s unexpected hospitality, particularly when it involved the Tour d’Argent’s superb duck, with wine to match. He looked out of the window. Below he could see the Seine darkly gleaming, with willow reflections reaching up to form an osier cage with their own realities. In such a cage his ex-gamekeeper grandfather had kept a blackbird. It never sang till one day by accident Mai had set it free. Such a torrent of bubbling music poured from its golden beak as it sped away that he forgot to be afraid of the consequences till the old man’s angry blows reminded him.
‘You’re strangely rapt, my friend,’ said Zeller. ‘Not more metaphors?’
‘Perhaps. Tell me, Bruno, sir, what precisely am I doing here?’
‘In Paris, you mean?’ said Zeller, deliberately misunderstanding.
‘No. I know what I’m doing in Paris. There’s a war on, remember?’
‘Really?’ Zeller looked round the crowded room. ‘Hard to believe, isn’t it?’
‘Not if you look out of the window. Out there, under every roof, there’s at least one person who knows he or she is fighting a war.’
‘So you do have X-ray vision! It explains such a lot.’
‘The major is pleasant. But in a way he’s right. Even here I can look towards the kitchen and see them spitting in the soup.’
‘How fortunate we avoided the soup then,’ said Zeller, suddenly impatient. ‘But you’re right. There is of course a reason for our little tête-à-tête. Günter, you’re one of the best men we’ve got. Well, I know you know it. I just wanted you to be sure that your superiors know it too.’
‘Good Lord,’ said Mai. ‘This isn’t a party to celebrate my promotion, is it?’
‘The lieutenant is facetious,’ said Zeller. ‘Now, a serious question. What do you think the greatest danger is to the Abwehr’s work?’
‘Easy,’ said Mai without hesitation. ‘The SD.’
‘Explain.’
‘A military occupation with a Wehrmacht chain of command is not to their taste. To them security is not just a means of keeping the peace but putting their ideology into action. Where our areas of work overlap, their best way to complete control is to discredit us and through us the military administration. Also men like your friend Fiebelkorn honestly believe that the only safe condition for an occupied country is one of constant terror.’
‘Don’t mention that bastard to me,’ said Zeller. ‘That trick of his with that runt Melchior last November was just a beginning. Listen, Günter. I’ve been unofficially authorized to organize a small section to keep an eye on whatever the SD are getting up to. Forewarned is forearmed. I’d value your assistance.’
Mai sipped his wine and said, ‘You realize the best you can hope for is a delaying action? Behind us we’ve got generals, and of course an admiral. They’ve got politicians. It’s no contest.’
‘So you won’t help?’
‘Of course I will. You knew that before you ordered this excellent dinner. In fact I’ve taken a step or two in that direction already. Though, as doubtless you know, I should imagine our work load’s going to be increased quite a bit after tomorrow.’
The remark was made so casually that Zeller found himself nodding in melancholy agreement till its implications struck home.
‘What the hell do you mean?’ he demanded.
Mai laughed aloud at Zeller’s evident discomfiture.
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