Chapter IX.
Part 3 of Night Train.
------
Colmar, Alsace
9th of December, 1938
9:35 PM
10 minutes later, they left the police station and headed off back into the cold, the snow and the crackling sounds of white powder crumpling underneath their leather boots. Reythier said no word of their early departure, moving on without a word away from the police headquarters with Klaus trotting alongside him in silence. As they passed the petite boulangerie by the edge of the bridge over the Lauch, Klaus took a quick look behind him and patted Reythier slightly on his left arm.
“We left more than twenty minutes earlier than the train. It takes us at most five more minutes to get there.”
Reythier nodded, walking onwards without a side glance. “I don't believe Pernod.”
“Because of what I told you?”
“That too. But I have my own doubts. The story he told us is far too fantastic for me to even believe it.”
“What if he's right?”
Reythier shot Klaus a dubious glance. “What are you saying?”
“Pernod might be right.”
“The Lauch has higher chances of defrosting in a snowstorm than Pernod being right.” Reythier nodded over to the train station, slowly becoming visible in between the timber frame houses of Colmar. “No chance.”
“Then what are we doing here now?”
“Looking for three men.”
Klaus rose his hands in despair. “So you believe him!”
“Partly. He's got three accomplices, that's true.”
“How did you guess?”
“You'll see.”
“What are we looking for then?”
“Three men casting weird looks around this place. Should be easy to spot them.”
“In a crowd?”
“What crowd? Colmar doesn't even have five thousand people any more because of the threat of the war. What crowd? Who comes here in the middle of the winter? Ten people at most will come from the train. Look closely.”
“And if they're not there?”
“Then you keep looking.”
They arrived at the train station approximately one minute and a half earlier before the train arrived, allowing them to slide away from the station itself and into the waiting room. A dim light illuminated a small room on the side of the little house that dubbed as an office for the chief of the station and a waiting room, separated by a hastily constructed wall that was part white part grey because of improper finishing. A row of chairs were set on the right side as they entered, with their backs against the windows, which forced both Reythier and Klaus to take them and switch them around so they could see the incoming train. Both men stood down and placed their hands inside their pockets, clutching the grips of their pistols as they waited for the earlier train.
One minute later, already overdue even by their estimates, the black locomotive chugged along in the station and dropped off around twenty people who soon went to their business into Colmar. Because of the windows that overlooked the train tracks rather than the station, they could see neither of the passengers, forcing Klaus to protest with a measured gesture of his neck towards the train. Reythier watched his gesture but moved his head slightly downwards in disagreement. Unmoved, but fidgeting slightly, the two men waited for another thirty seconds in total silence until one man dressed in a black fedora and a woolen overcoat entered the waiting room.
“Bonsoir,” said Reythier, smiling slightly and inviting the man to sit down.
The man stopped for a brief moment, his hands still on the edge of the waiting room door.
“Bonsoir.” The man watched them from the edge of the entrance, somewhat confused and unsure of the two well dressed men sitting in the waiting room, chairs overturned towards the incoming train. “Are you waiting for the train?”
“Well, no. I am waiting for someone.”
“Ah. Well, everyone has left. It is just me now.”
Reythier moved his head. “Is it?”
Reythier's measured words somehow made the guest react hastily. Before he could pull out the pistol from the pocket of his overcoat, Reythier lunged at the man from the chair in one single swoop, smashing him against the wall of the waiting room. Immobilised, the man tried to react against the sudden fury of a tall Parisian who dealt two successive blows to his ribcage, shattering two ribs and forcing him to collapse sideways in pain. Overcome with pain and fear, the man could only watch as Reythier dealt a furious jab to his forehead, knocking him out cold right beside the entrance of the waiting room. The man slumped to the ground, inadvertently kicking the window of the waiting room door that was enough to alarm his friends.
Before Reythier had a chance to untangle himself from the battle, two men entered the waiting room from the opposite side, pistols at hand, aiming directly for Reythier's torso and head. But as Reythier had hoped, Klaus took out his own pistol in a clean arching maneouver, firing three successive rounds into the two assailants. Two of the bullets hit the first assailant in the right leg and right arm, forcing him to drop his pistol and collapse against the wall of the waiting room. The last bullet hit the remaining assailant in his left kneecap, throwing his face down against the cold pavement of the waiting room. All of them were still alive, but neither of the assailants were able to put up a fight any more.
Satisfied, Reythier motioned to Klaus who kept his pistol outstretched. The tall Parisian took the knocked out guest and dragged him over to the chairs in the wails of his comrades who were slowly bleeding on the waiting room floor.
“Shouldn't we get an ambulance, Alexandre?” asked Klaus.
Reythier looked at his watch. “Eight minutes. It's already on the way. I left a note for the junior policeman who helped me earlier.”
“Junior policeman? How come you trusted him?”
“Eager to serve the headquarters. The only one who could be trusted.”
Reythier sighed. The assailants were quickly searched and their pistols taken away, a precautionary measure to prevent any mishaps like four hours ago. He looked at the pistols and while two of them were of French origin, the last one, which belonged to the knocked out guest, was made by Walther Firearms. German. He raised the pistol to Klaus.
“Walther PPK. Foreign spies.”
Klaus looked at the two bleeding assailants. “How in the world did you guess, Alexandre?”
“Two details.” Reythier lifted up a finger. “Who knows the interrogation quarters of the police headquarters apart from Pernod or his close men? It's a random house hidden in the middle of a small town named Colmar. You want me to believe these foreign spies knew about it? Those two young men... Pernod knew about them. And the shooter was one of ours. Frenchman. Born in Alsace.”
Klaus muttered under his breath some words. “Second detail?”
“Pernod left the headquarters immediately after we spoke with him, instead of staying with his men to continue his investigation. That made me suspicious, along with what you told me, of him fidgeting during our quick conversation. So I figured out it had some connection with the night trains that come because of the note he gave us. But you would think of the night train that it would be the last one. Not the one before.”
“He tried to throw us off.”
“Correct.”
“Tres bien. I give up now. Tell me how you managed to notice the first one.”
“Pernod's police cap.”
Klaus rose an eyebrow. “His cap?”
“Constables wear a slightly different cap than the rank officers. And Pernod happened to be a reasonably important constable around here, so he had his own fashion touch to it. A blue and white ribbon.”
Klaus frowned. He took a glance around at the injured conspirators and took one of the hats lying on the floor, immediately noticing a small blue and white ribbon attached on the edge of the tip. Small, but noticeable. He showed it to Reythier.
“This?”
“Yes. That ribbon. It's their own mark of identification without having to talk.”
Silence quickly followed. Reythier watched as Klaus stood stumped with the hat in his hand, drawing his fingers slightly over the edge, right over the blue and white ribbon that somehow represented the flag of France. Or at least a portion of it. Reythier's friend held up the hat.
“And, what now? What happens with them?”
“Pernod left, but he will caught soon. I spoke with one of the policemen to deliver a note to the secret services in Lyon. Pernod is just a cog. We're in for bigger problems.”
Klaus threw the hat in one of the conspirator's faces and turned to Reythier.
“I'm worried.”
“You should.” Reythier adjusted his own hat. “Pernod is a little wave, something you feel when a wave touches your leg when you go to the sea in Biarritz or Saint-Tropez. We're in for a large wave, a destructive wave, that will sweep us away. Away, or sideways, either way it will be violent.” Reythier sighed. “Klaus, we're in for a war.”
---
Feedback welcome!