‘We’ve interviewed both men at length. Here, actually,’ he said. ‘They’ve been very forthcoming with the information they’ve shared.’ He took a fob watch from the pocket of his jacket. ‘In fact, they’d like to meet you.’
Fitz’s mouth dried at the words. Engel certainly liked to play games with people and this is all it was to him, a game. The German got to his feet. ‘Would you come this way, please?’
Fitz rose from the chair and reluctantly followed Engel out of the room and into the entrance hall. Engel nodded and a soldier opened a door at the back of the space.
Fitz couldn’t help the gasp that escaped as the two men she’d last seen at the farmyard were dragged into the hallway. They had been beaten so badly, their faces were swollen and bruised. One of André’s eyes was completely closed up and dried blood coated his face. He couldn’t stand and was supported by a soldier on each side. They let him go and he crashed to the floor with a groan.
The other man, who she now knew was called Bernard, hadn’t fared any better, but he was standing of his own accord. He was barefoot and Fitz could see both big toenails were missing, the flesh fresh, pink and bloodied.
Fitz made eye-contact with the man. She realised too late what Engel’s game was. He wanted the men to believe Fitz had collaborated with him, divulged their secrets. How could she convey to the Frenchman that so far she hadn’t said a word? And how could Bernard let her know exactly what he had told the Germans?
‘Your friends or your foe?’ asked Engel. ‘Who has said what?’ Another sadistic smile played at the corners of his mouth.
Fitz wasn’t about to be beaten in a battle of the minds. She made a big show of recoiling from the man, before she turned to Engel. ‘I would say foe. I’ve never seen these men before in my life.’ She hoped by saying this loud enough, Bernard would understand. If they had betrayed her, then she was certain Engel would already be interrogating her, presumably by the same methods used on Bernard and André. She couldn’t let her mind go there and think what might happen to her. Now, she was purely surviving minute by minute.
‘Is that so?’ mused Engel. He nodded at the soldiers who had dumped André on the floor. They had obviously been given instructions on how this was going to play out, and without question they hoisted André to his feet and dragged him back down the hallway and through the rear door. ‘Please follow,’ ordered Engel.
With the Frenchman ahead of her, Fitz followed the party through the room at the back of the house and into a courtyard. She watched in horror as the two prisoners were forced to kneel, facing her. André could barely keep upright and swayed to one side but was swiftly booted back into a central position by one of the guards.
Both Frenchmen had their hands tied behind their backs, which Fitz thought was ridiculous. It was clear neither of them was in any position to put up a fight.
Engel walked behind the prisoners and held his pistol at the back of André’s head, just as he had done with Yvette.
‘Mademoiselle Bardot,’ said Engel. ‘I will ask you again, where is Colonel Hoffmann?’
Fitz shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she replied.
The words had barely left her lips when a shot rang out and André thudded to the ground, blood seeping out from the fatal gunshot wound. Fitz flinched but refused to turn away.
Engel looked in utter disdain at the motionless body of the young Frenchman who, only a few days ago, had sat in the mess room with Fitz, waiting to board the flight to France. The fragility of life especially at the hands of someone like Engel was not lost on Fitz.
‘I hope his mother can forgive you for not saving his life,’ said Engel.
Fitz had to force herself not to respond. She wanted to race across the courtyard, grab Engel by his lapels and shout inhis face that she was not responsible. It was him. He was the murderer.
Engel now had his pistol pointing at the back of Bernard’s head. ‘I will ask the same question and if you give the same answer, then my action will be the same,’ he said simply. ‘Are you happy to have more blood on your hands?’
Fitz looked at Bernard. They both knew that no matter what she replied, Engel was going to murder him. If Fitz confessed now, then their deaths really would be in vain. If she could hold out for as long as possible, it would give Yvette a chance to survive. She couldn’t do anything for the Frenchman now and they both knew it.
Bernard closed his eyes slowly and opened them again. He had accepted his fate and was in effect forgiving Fitz for what was about to happen.
She held his gaze for a moment longer, before switching it to Engel. ‘As I said before, I do not know this man and I have no idea what happened to Colonel Hoffmann.’
She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw a look of satisfaction on the Frenchman’s face before he too was shot at point-blank range and met death instantly.
Engel let out a sigh and, holstering his pistol, walked over to Fitz. ‘Maybe we should continue our conversation inside.’
This time, Fitz wasn’t taken to the comfort of Engel’s office, but to a room at the back of the house. Inside was a table and two chairs in the centre of the room. Fitz gulped at the sight of various tools and medical instruments laid out on the table. The tiled floor was wet and although smelt of disinfectant, the metallic odour of blood was undeniable.
She didn’t need telling this was where André and Bernard had been interrogated and she was about to get the same treatment.
Chapter 25
No amount of SOE training could have prepared Fitz for the ordeal she underwent at the Gestapo house over the next twenty-four hours. She knew she was strong-willed but the pain she endured was almost unbearable, and apparently, according, to Engel, he was going easy on her because he liked her.
She’d been stripped to her underwear and tied to a chair, left for hours – either alone and blindfolded in darkness or with someone in the room. She didn’t know when the next assault would begin or where it was coming from.
She had drip-fed her interrogators information, some of it false and some of it true – the latter being information that would be useless by the time it was acted upon, like, the trains which were marked for sabotage, or the communication lines destined to be cut by the resistance. All rehearsed pieces of information which were designed to make her captors feel she was co-operating. It would buy her a day or two if she was lucky.
